


Mystique

by DefectivelyFlawless



Series: "A Heart Whose Love Is Innocent!" [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Attempt at Humor, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, F/M, First Crush, Follows plot mostly, Freeform, Gen, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Second Year, Magic, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, POV Third Person, Sit Down This Will Be a Long Build Up, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29583852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefectivelyFlawless/pseuds/DefectivelyFlawless
Summary: Trouble is again brewing in Hogwarts for Alexander's second year. Certain aspects of his Grandfather's past is discovered. Fresh torments mount including a horribly conceited new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, and a bothersome ghost named Moaning Myrtle who haunts the girls' bathroom.However, real trouble emerges when someone - or, perhaps, something - lurks inside the school, aiming to kill Muggleborn students. Suddenly, students are turning to stone with no explanation of how and his friend begins to hear sinister voices in the shadows.{Book Two}
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Original Male Character(s)
Series: "A Heart Whose Love Is Innocent!" [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095335
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	1. Epigraph

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to the second part of this series. Anyone reading this first may need to read the first part before progressing further. The first chapter will be up soon, so please bear with me.

❝Nobody can stay in the Garden of Eden.❞

\- James Baldwin, _Giovanni's Room_


	2. The Worst Evening

A dark-haired twelve-year-old boy sat on the smooth ledge of his bedroom window which perched open. He gazed out into the far distance. Trees swayed in the evening’s breeze. The summer sun set in the sky like fresh colours brushed upon an artist’s canvas. The orange-gold stretched far and wide, the colour of fire hearths and tangerines, which reminded him of the Gryffindor common room. Alexander was waiting for Apollo, his owl, to return with letters from his friends.

‘Alex,’ called a deep voice. Eliot appeared in the doorway, and he was so tall that he had to bend down to enter. ‘Are you dressed and ready? Your Grandfather’s almost finished.’

‘Do I have to go?’ he grumbled, then in a pleading tone asked, ‘Can’t I just stay at home?’

Eliot raised an eyebrow in amusement. ‘Moaning already? Cheer up, it’ll only be a few hours.’

‘I still don’t see why I have to go.’ He sighed and scrunched his face in a tiny scowl. ‘It’s so boring, like always.’

‘Because sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to, Alexander,’ said Eliot in a breezy tone, crossing his arms which caused his white shirt to tighten across his upper arms. ‘Now, you only have a few minutes left, mind,’ warned Eliot, ‘your Grandfather doesn’t like to be late. So when he calls, you come.’

Alexander nodded glumly, and Eliot left to go downstairs. He still didn’t understand why he had to go. People only wanted to see and talk to his Grandfather anyway, not him. In every formal event, he would just be tailing Grandfather, tuning out tedious business conversations or small talk.

Alexander was peeved as he hadn’t been allowed to visit Ron’s house when the redhead invited him during their last letter; Grandfather told him that he could only go after this ministry event.

He reached up to tug at his bow tie, seeing as he couldn’t touch his combed, slicked-back hair in case of ruining it. He had been wearing suits every time Grandfather hosted an event or attended one throughout his life. Part of Grandfather’s role was knowing people and building relationships and this meant that Alexander was forced to attend as Grandfather’s only living relative. He’s worn formal clothing so many time that he knew how to wear a bow tie or secure a tie without Eliot assisting – it became second nature.

These stupid parties were a waste of time. The worst part about Grandfather’s job was being invited to every little event that someone hosted. As Grandfather was well respected and wealthy, he was expected to attend every single one of them. Alexander hated going and being introduced to Grandfather’s associates who sneered at his young age and inexperience in the world. They would never fully outright display it but Alexander could sense their spurious behaviours in a way where they would loudly praise him to Grandfather, which was evidently fake. If it were up to Alexander, he would choose to remain home with Eliot instead.

This evening’s wear, however, was different from the usual suits. They were still expensive, of course, but they were _dress robes_ , commonly worn in the wizarding community.

This specific type of formal event included those who worked at the ministry. As a diplomat for the British and French Ministry, Grandfather could not decline the invitation, and in turn, Alexander could not refuse to come. He had asked why Eliot could not join them and Grandfather claimed that Eliot had not been invited. The worse thing was that Alexander couldn’t even take a book with him as Grandfather had forbidden it. Something to do with bad manners and making a good impression. So, safe to say, Alexander would be having the worst evening.

While Grandfather was getting ready, Alexander had been waiting for Apollo to arrive back with the letters he sent to his friends. He’d been writing throughout the holiday and most of them had written back. Hermione described her time abroad with her family. Neville informed him about the various plants he dealt with and how his Gran kept nagging him. Ron wrote about the pranks the twins did, particularly against Percy, the snobbish Weasley brother; the games he played; the food he ate. Yet, Ron didn’t mention much travelling except to the nearest village.

From Harry Potter, however, he heard not a peek. It appeared that Harry had written to neither him, Ron, nor Hermione. Alexander knew that Harry was receiving his letters because Apollo was coming back empty-handed, so he must have received them in some way. Alexander speculated what he had done to make Harry upset. That must have been the reason why his supposed friend wasn’t replying. He dismissed this idea quickly, however, because Harry was not the type of person who would ignore them like this.

In his last letter to Ron, Alexander worried that Harry’s relatives were keeping his letters from him. The way that Harry’s uncle had treated him, on the Platform going home, made Alexander think that perhaps his theory wasn’t too far from the truth.

Just then, a loud screech and the familiar sight of his treasured companion caused him to rise from his seat on the ledge. Apollo flew into the room and tied on his right leg were a bundle of letters. He removed the letters and stroked Apollo’s head with two fingers. The owl gave him a gentle nip before taking a sip of water from his cage.

Alexander flicked through the letters and, with a sinking heart, Harry’s letter was yet to be seen. They were all from Ron, Hermione, and Neville. He spun around at Apollo with a questioning stare, as he had clearly stated for the owl to not come back until Harry wrote back, but Apollo had already tucked himself in and fallen asleep. He sighed then with a glance at his watch realised he had several minutes left before leaving. He tore open Hermione’s letter first, her neat, joined-up handwriting inscribed on the parchment:

Dear Alexander,

This ministry ball you told me about seems intriguing. It sounds like such a great opportunity for you to meet important individuals who work within the ministry. It would be an invaluable learning prospect for the future. I’m sure you could ask about the different careers and paths after Hogwarts, of course. I’ve been reading about various departments and their dynamics. You really should get a chance to read the book yourself because it is so dense and complex to explain in a mere letter. I have to admit I’m slightly disappointed I won’t get a chance to see for myself, but I presume you’ll write back to me and tell me everything, right?

Alex – you don’t mind if I call you that? – I’m beginning to get worried about Harry. None of us has heard from him since the train back, and I think there’s something rather foul at play. I do hope his relatives aren’t too harsh on him. My parents are calling me, so I have to cut this short but tell me if you hear anything from Harry. I’m sure we’ll get a chance to meet at Diagon Alley. Write back soon.

Love from Hermione.

His lips quirked up in a fond smile. Typical Hermione to think of this as something to learn from. He’d be too busy counting down the minutes until he could go home. Besides, he’s probably too young to think about his future career just now. He slid her letter to the bottom and the next one contained Neville’s fairly short scribble:

Hey Alexander,

I’m sorry but Gran and I won’t be attending. She says I’ve got to focus on my studies rather than go to parties. But you’ll be fine. It’s just shaking a few people’s hands, smiling, and wishing them well. Don’t worry, it’ll be over before you know it. Also, Trevor’s gone missing again. I’ve tried to find him everywhere but he won’t stay in one place.

Neville.

Alexander couldn’t help feeling disheartened – he’ll be alone with just Grandfather. Usually, he would have been delighted to spend more time with his Grandfather but not like this, surrounded by strangers he’s never met. The final letter was from Ron. Tearing open the envelope, a crumpled sheet fell out. He’s been waiting for Ron’s reply for a few days now:

Alex mate,

I think you might be right about Harry’s ~~rele~~ relatives. I told your theory to Fred and George and we decided we’re gonna go and rescue Harry. We’re gonna take Dad’s car and go during the night. It’s ~~enshan~~ enchanted so it won’t attract too much attention. The bad thing is that Mum doesn’t know. Hope she doesn’t find out. It’ll be a great adventure. Wish you were here though.

Ron.

His mind was racing. Alexander briefly wondered how the Weasley brothers were going to drive to Surrey, the place where Harry’s relatives lived. Ron and the twins might already be on their way to Harry. It might have been easier to take the train but they didn’t know enough about muggle transportation to fully use it. Alexander was slightly gutted that he couldn’t go as well. He chewed on his lip as he read again, hoping to hear from Ron soon.

‘Alex! Time to go!’

Grandfather’s voice sounded from two floors down, causing Alexander to break from his thoughts. He placed the three letters on his wooden desk, then shut the window with a soft thud. His chance to reply would come later. He smoothed down his black dress robes, making sure there were no crinkles, then descended downstairs. He couldn’t wait for this to be over.

∞ ϟ 9¾

The ministry ball was hosted in a luxurious garden because the rare seasonal weather beckoned for it. A lake ran alongside the edge of the grass. Alexander didn’t know the name of the host nor did he care to find out. Gentlemen in various colours of robes and ladies in distinct shades of dresses flocked the scene. A large white tent was constructed and inside was one of the largest halls he’s seen. It had two to three floors accompanied by a twisting staircase. Bright lights had been charmed to hang in mid-air; the floor and walls were marble; chatter and twinkling laughter chimed.

Alexander had yet to see any children. He’s spotted a couple of older teenagers near the lakeside who drank cups of what appeared to be water but the sparkling bubbles led him to suspect alcohol.

During the time that they had arrived, Grandfather made Alexander stand by his side throughout and introduced him to numerous people, where he had to shake their hands and answer their questions. He had already forgotten the names and faces of some as there were too many of them. One or two, however, he recognised from previous parties. Most of them treated him as if he were an eight-year-old child, which prompted irritation to flare up inside him despite his effort to conceal it. He must not have done a satisfactory job because Grandfather threw him a stern pointed glance when no one was looking.

Finally, after what seemed like decades, Grandfather mentioned that he wanted to introduce him to the last few people and then he was free to do whatever he wanted. And so, Alexander plastered a charming smile as Grandfather steered him up one floor where two men – one shorter, the other taller – were stood leaning against the bannister overlooking the ground floor. But, to his horror, it wasn’t just two men. Next to the tall man with long blond hair was a familiar pale-faced boy with a pointy chin. Alexander bit his tongue hard to suppress the groan that longed to burst from his throat. _Here I was thinking that this evening couldn’t get any worse_ , he thought despairingly, _and it actually did_.

'Antoine,’ beamed the shorter man. ‘There you are. We’ve been waiting for you.’

The short man was odd-looking; he had rumpled grey hair and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, and pointed purple boots. On his head, lay a lime-green bowler, and he clutched a glass of alcohol. Alexander stared at the man’s curious expression at him as they approached. Malfoy’s pinched ferret face pierced into him but Alexander didn’t want to give him any satisfaction by acknowledging him.

‘Good to see you, Fudge,’ greeted Grandfather with a curt nod. 

Fudge turned his small eyes at Alexander. ‘And who might you be?’

‘Sir, I would like you to meet my grandson,’ replied Grandfather, and standing behind, he placed both hands on Alexander’s shoulders. ‘Alexander, this is Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.’

Alexander cleared his throat and amped up his polite smile – the one that mothers and older women couldn’t resist being enchanted with – and in a pleasant tone said, ‘Hello, sir, I’m Alexander Laurent. It’s nice to make your acquaintance.’

Fudge beamed in delight. ‘Ah, I should have known – no one else could have such good manners like you, Antoine,’ he nodded good-naturedly, ‘taught your grandson well, amirite?’

‘As well as I can,’ smiled Grandfather, stepping beside Alexander and crossing his arms behind his back.

The tall man smiled silkily at Grandfather. ‘Good to see you again, Antoine. Busy as usual, I presume.’

The resemblance was striking; he had the same pale, pointed face as Malfoy and identical cold, grey eyes. Oddly, he held a cane and Alexander doubted that its purpose was for walking.

‘Very demanding, yes Lucius. I noticed your wife’s not with you.’

Malfoy waved a glove-covered hand. ‘Narcissa’s around here somewhere.’

Grandfather nodded respectfully, ‘Give her my good wishes if you will.’ His lips tugged into a courteous smile as he turned to the ferret. ‘Good evening, Draco, how are you this evening?’ asked Grandfather.

Malfoy puffed his chest out and drawled with an arrogant smirk, ‘I’m good, Mr Laurent. Thank you _very_ much for asking.’

Alexander resisted rolling his eyes. _Prick_. He then felt his skin crawl as those empty spheres of Mr Malfoy’s landed on him.

‘And young Mr Laurent. What a pleasure to be introduced this evening, I am certain you’ll agree.’

He swallowed. Perhaps because it was his relation to the ferret but, despite Mr Malfoy talking to him with nothing but cordiality, there was something about him that unnerved Alexander.

‘Alexander?’ prodded Grandfather, and that’s when he realised, he’d simply been staring with no answer for longer than necessary, ‘What do you say?’

‘Thank you, Mr Malfoy. It’s nice meeting you, too,’ he replied. Grandfather seemed satisfied.

Mr Malfoy swept a hand haughtily towards the ferret. ‘Have you met my son, Draco? You two are in the same year, I heard.’

Mr Malfoy hinted at a sneer but it was so quick that Alexander wondered if he had seen it in the first place. The ferret smirked from behind his father.

‘We’ve met,’ he answered flatly.

Fudge didn’t seem to notice the awkward atmosphere that settled, as he stared at the contents of his drink before bringing it up to his lips.

Grandfather broke the silence. ‘Enjoying the party, gentleman?’ he questioned.

‘Very nicely done, I may say,’ responded Fudge jovially. His cheeks had two red splotches that were rather prominent. ‘Lucius has enjoyed himself as well, I think.’

Mr Malfoy jerked his head as if he were giving a slight bow.

‘Drink, Antoine?’ Fudge gestured to the people walking around with silver trays filled with glasses of sparkling liquid.

‘No, not for me, thank you,’ declined Grandfather graciously.

Fudge shrugged then signalled to a nearby person who carried the glasses. ‘Ah, well, each to their own.’ The servant approached nervously, tray balanced on his fingers. Fudge took one before taking a sip. A trickle escaped from his puffed-up cheeks and ran down his three chins.

Grandfather stared down at Alexander and quietly muttered that he could leave but would call him when it was time to leave. He said a quick, courteous goodbye to the Malfoys and Fudge, then went downstairs to sit in one of the tempting chairs. Thankfully, Malfoy didn’t go after Alexander, though his eyes followed him.

People strode across the hall and servants filled the room with their white dress robes. His feet were aching after being dragged to say hello to what seemed like every person at this event, and his limbs sighed in relief as Alexander finally sat down.

His eye caught the only other person at the table. It was a man in a shabby dress robe that looked inexpensive and had seen better days. His hair was muddy brown with streaks of white in it and his face was drooping with either age or exhaustion – it was hard to tell. His eyes were red; the man was decidedly drunk or tipsy at the very least.

Alexander was happy to ignore him and closed his eyes for a minute, feeling calmness overtake him. He let out a contented breath until the man spoke up. His voice was deep and bitter.

‘Enjoying yourself, lad, I bet you are,’ he muttered.

Alexander felt irritation at being disturbed. He glanced at the mysterious man who was staring fixedly up at where Grandfather and the others stood talking.

At first, Alexander’s voice cracked as he spoke up but then cleared his throat. ‘Uh, I beg your pardon, sir?’ 

The man kept silent then gave a scornful laugh. ‘ _Damn_ them,’ he spat. ‘Hypocrites and liars, the lot of them.’ 

Alexander blinked. ‘I, uh, I’m not quite sure what you mean, sir.’

The man threw him an annoyed glance, causing him to bristle in response. Before he could say any retort, the man spoke again. ‘No, ya wouldn’t know. I don’t even know why I came to this _damn_ thing. I suppose that’s what’s expected for Ministry workers and their families.’

He felt discomfort arise and he shifted in his seat. He wished he never sat on this table but was too tired to even see the man in the first place. Now, it would have been rude to immediately stand up and leave and so he remained seated, bouncing his right leg up and down. 

‘Don’t work for the ministry, d'ya hear me, lad?’ The man locked his serious gaze onto Alexander, his stare piercing like shards of glass. ‘Be anything else – be a stupid fairy for all I care or whatever you kids are into.’

Alexander wetted his lips. He doubted this was the type of career advice Hermione would have appreciated. Trust his luck to sit near some crazy drunk fool. This was undoubtedly one of the worse evenings he’s ever had.

‘You think I’m crazy, don’t ya?’ The man tugged his lips up in a self-deprecating smile. ‘I’m saner than anyone here, I’ll tell you that.’ The man turned to glare as Grandfather’s laughter and Fudge’s loud snorts sounded. ‘ _Damn_ Fudge, and _damn_ Antoine Laurent,’ he spat.

Alexander swallowed heavily, taken aback at the hostility that spouted from the man’s voice. People usually liked his Grandfather as they flocked towards him in search of praise or merely being associated with him. This, however, was definitely a first.

‘What’s, um, what’s wrong with them?’ asked Alexander in a hesitant tone.

The man gave a derisive chuckle. ‘Fudge is an incompetent fool, that’s what’s wrong. Everyone knows that it should have been Dumbledore for the job,’ he stated. ‘And that Frenchman came here several years back with his big ideas – I remember it like it was yesterday. Believe me, Fudge may be Minister but it’s Laurent who advises him on the real decisions.’

The more the man spoke the more confused Alexander became. It was as if the man was speaking to himself.

‘But _I_ know what he truly thinks about us types of wizards if no one else does,’ muttered the man darkly, ‘I knew it during the last war. Bet he would have loved it if You-Know-Who had won instead.’

A thousand questions erupted within him, yet before he could ask, the man abruptly stood up from his seat and walked away without a second glance. Alexander felt as if he’d been hit by a bludger. Big ideas? And the man mentioned something to do with that noseless psychopath. What was that all about? It nudged at his brain but he felt too tired and bewildered to demystify it properly.

Alexander left the tent, craving to feel fresh air on his face. His collar shirt suddenly felt tight against his throat. He longed to remove his bow tie but didn’t think Grandfather would like it. He sauntered towards the small lake that ran adjacent to the garden. The teenagers he spotted earlier had disappeared, and there were only a few lingering pairs who were either smoking pipes and cigars or drinking.

The lake-side air was pungent with the fragrance of jasmine. Alexander stepped closer to the edge and sat down on the stone ledge. From the surface was an opaque green, but it was clear enough to see the plants and life below. If he squinted closer, he could see the fish swimming in a bundle together. They were tiny and numerous, each about as long as his pinkie finger. He gazed across to the lily pads, their white or magenta petals catching the breeze. Whoever owned all this must have had time and money on their hands. He inhaled slowly. The shabby man’s voice had already faded into a muted silence in his mind.

‘Alexander?’

A familiar and gentle voice came from behind him. Helen eyed him with a surprised yet happy appearance. Beside her was a nervous boy, possibly a year or two younger than Alexander, who visibly fidgeted, his eyes anxiously shifting from Alexander to Helen. Helen wore a knee-length dress and her blonde hair was curled into waves. A wave of warmth settled below in his stomach. Her face somehow looked different though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. All he knew was that she looked . . . _pretty_. He internally frowned. It was a somewhat weird thought.

‘Helen?’ His tone was astonished, and he instantly rose from the stone seat. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I came with my parents – they’re inside right now. Did you, um, come with your Grandfather?’

‘Yeah, I did.’ He turned his inquisitive gaze onto the boy. ‘Is that your brother?’

‘Hm, oh, yes, this is my brother. I’m supposed to be looking after him right now.’ She nudged the boy who glanced uneasily at Helen before giving an uncertain smile and an awkward wave at him.

‘Hello, I’m Sullivan Fawley.’

He gave a small half-smile. ‘Alexander Laurent. Are you a first-year?’

Sullivan shook his head and stared at the ground morosely. ‘No, next year,’ he mumbled quietly.

Alexander nodded, not quite knowing what to say next. He rocked back on his feet and ran his hands down his robes. Luckily, Helen put him out of his discomfort.

‘You look different with your hair like that,’ she smiled, dimples appearing.

Alexander swiftly reached up to graze his hand over the said hair, feeling a tad self-conscious. ‘Is it bad?’ he asked, alarmed. 

‘No,’ Helen shook her head with a mellow laugh, ‘no, it, uh, it suits you, I think.’

He breathed a tiny sigh of relief. ‘Oh . . . good.’ He watched Sullivan chew on his bottom lip then tug on Helen’s wrist and point towards the tent.

‘I have to go now, but it was nice to see you, Alexander,’ she waved from over her shoulder.

He mindlessly waved back, watching her figure disappear as she entered the tent, which reflected an orange glow from the outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. I'm rather excited about this book because the Chamber of Secrets was my favourite book out of the original series despite many people not liking it. It had that mystery element to it.


	3. A Chaotic Household

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly filler.

A few days later, Grandfather finally informed Alexander that he could visit the Weasleys for the rest of the summer. Grandfather had sent a letter off to Mrs Weasley and she had accepted.

Alexander’s trunk was neatly packed, and he carried it downstairs where his Grandfather was waiting in the living room. He was bouncing on his feet and felt like jumping in excitement, though reined himself in. He’d been waiting for this ever since Ron sent him an invitation and couldn’t wait to see his friend and the twins again. It’ll be so much fun. They’ll play games and pranks, and Quidditch, and –

‘You remember to be good, do you hear me, Alexander,’ cautioned Grandfather, breaking him out of his flurry of animated thoughts. ‘As I mentioned previously, I will be there to pick you up early on the first of September.’ Grandfather offered one of his rare half-smiles. ‘I can’t miss dropping you off at Hogwarts, now can I?’

Alexander met his Grandfather’s stern look and nodded. ‘I will.’ 

‘Good, I don’t want any complaints from Mrs Weasley saying you’ve been causing trouble.’

Grandfather jerked his head to the fireplace, which was crackling with fresh flames in the early morning. Alexander frowned. _Okay, that’s weird_. Why is there a fire in the morning? Their central heating worked perfectly.

‘Now, pick up that pot from the mantlepiece – that’s it.’ 

He tilted his head quizzically but Grandfather appeared deadly serious, nor was he the type of man to joke about anything. Were they not supposed to take the train or the car? The tiny ceramic pot he picked up was oval-shaped with a patterned design around it. The object had customarily sat on top of the fireplace for as long as he could remember and he had assumed that the pot was a decorative piece. He grasped it in his hands and peered down. The inside was strange with grey, glittering powder. He wondered if it would slide through his fingers like sand.

‘Grandfather,’ he stared up and in a puzzled tone asked, ‘what exactly is this?’

‘It’s Floo Powder.’ His Grandfather’s tone was brisk and matter-of-fact as if Alexander were foolish for not recognising it sooner. A tad bit of annoyance flared up. How was he supposed to know that?

Alexander furrowed his brows. ‘Yes, but what’s it for?’ He hoped his voice didn’t sound impatient.

Grandfather eyed him for a moment before answering. ‘It’s used as a means for transportation through the Floo Network which is connected through fireplaces. Most wizarding households are connected through it.’

His interest was caught. ‘Floo Network? What, connected like the Tube lines?’

‘I suppose you can look at it that way,’ remarked Grandfather thoughtfully. ‘Though it’s much quicker to travel, it’s also dirtier.’

‘How come you’ve never used it before?’ he inquired curiously.

Grandfather grimaced. ‘I don’t particularly like, you may say, this method of travel. I try to avoid it when I’m able to.’ He paused then admitted, ‘Well, if you must know, I once fell into the wrong fireplace when I was a young boy. I ended up at a neighbouring house and they weren’t particularly pleased as you can imagine.’

It was rather strange to imagine Grandfather as a boy just like him and it slightly unnerved him. His Grandfather had also never mentioned his childhood or past. It was a murky vapour that left Alexander guessing on more than one occasion. Once again, the words of the man from the ministry party flickered in his mind like the flash of the bright light from a camera.

Grandfather shook himself out of that unpleasant memory. ‘Right, you try. Take some Floo Powder and stand in the fireplace.’ Grandfather’s voice turned sharp as he stressed, ‘It is important to state the name of the intended destination _very clearly_. I want you to say, ‘The Burrow’, okay? Also, keep your elbows tucked in.’

‘Is there a rule to how much you’re supposed to take?’ asked Alexander, scrutinising the Floo Powder.

‘A pinch should do it.’ Grandfather stood taller than before. ‘Mrs Weasley’s already expecting you, so be good and be mindful of your manners.’

Before he took the powder, Alexander paused then ventured. ‘It is safe, isn’t it?’

‘Completely, now, go on,’ replied Grandfather firmly.

More curious than he was nervous, Alexander took a bit of the powder and walked to the edge of the fire. He stared back and Grandfather gave a brief though encouraging nod. He took a deep breath, scattered the powder into the blinking, rising flames, and stepped forward, clutching his trunk; the fire felt like a warm breeze and the tips grazed against his body but he hardly felt any pain; he opened his mouth and stated in a clear tone, ‘ _The Burrow_!’

He was being sucked down a giant tube, spinning speedily. There came a huge roaring in his ears, almost deafening. Though he tried to keep his eyes open, the whirl of green flames was too much. Still spinning and spinning, elbows tucked in, trunk clutched tightly in his fists. His vision became blurry as he squinted. Hazy streams of fireplaces appeared. Then finally, finally — he fell through.

Dizzy and coated in soot, he quietly groaned as he rose gingerly to his feet. Now he understood why Grandfather hated Floo travel. He’d stick with the Underground, thank you very much. His trunk lay beside him, thankfully undamaged and closed.

‘Ah, Alexander, there you are,’ came a kind, warm voice into the room. Mrs Weasley smiled at him. She appeared just as she had done during King’s Cross Station, though this time she was wearing a flowered apron. ‘First time travelling by Floo, is it?’

He nodded sheepishly. Then he gazed at the mess he’d accidentally made on their carpet as he climbed out of the fireplace. ‘I’m sorry about my state, Mrs Weasley.’ He gestured to his dark hair and clothes dirtied with dust.

‘Oh, not to worry, dear, it happens to the best of us,’ she waved a hand in a dismissive tone. ‘Now, let me just clean you up a bit.’

She took out her wand from her apron, and before Alexander could stumble backwards in alarm, she swished her wand. To his surprise, the residue and dust from his body and hair evaporated and he appeared as if he’d stepped out of the shower and his clothes out of the laundry.

‘There, that’s better, right? Come, let’s get a spot of breakfast down you. I’m sure you’re feeling rather hungry.’

He was feeling peckish but Alexander believed it to be rude to immediately say so. Mrs Weasley ignored this.

‘Nonsense, dear, you’re looking peaky,’ she frowned, eyes scanning over his form. ‘You’ll be sharing with Ron, so if you’d like to place your trunk in his room, there’s food waiting for you in the kitchen. His room’s all the way at the top, I’m afraid.’

Alexander did as she proposed and placed his trunk in Ron’s room. It was exceedingly quiet as he went up the stairs. Perhaps everyone was still asleep. He went up an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. He climbed the last two flights until he reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it saying, “Ronald’s Room.” His lips tugged in a grin and he opened the door. His head almost touched the sloping ceiling. A muffled bang followed by a soft groan came from above, causing him to jolt in alarm. He gazed upwards, straining his ears, but no sound came again.

The most glaring problem, however, was right in front of him. Ron was nowhere to be seen. The bed lay bare, the covers untouched. Then, his stomach twisted and he could have smacked himself for being so stupid. _Of course_. Recalling Ron’s previous letter, he descended downstairs and walked into the kitchen. Mrs Weasley stood at the stove, frying sausages and eggs, the tantalising aroma wafting through the air. His stomach rumbled quietly and Mrs Weasley turned to him.

‘Ah, Alexander, sit down,’ she gestured then frowned slightly.

Though Mrs Weasley was smiling, her eyes and demeanour were distracted. She kept glimpsing out of the window which overlooked the field. He sat on one of the end seats on the wooden table.

‘I’m very sorry to say this but my three sons aren’t here yet,’ she admitted worriedly. ‘Would you happen to know where they are?’

His stomach lurched and he tried hard not to stare directly into her hopeful face. Did she know?

‘Uh, no, Mrs Weasley – I don’t, I’m sorry,’ he fibbed, and felt even worse when her face slumped in disappointment.

To distract himself he concentrated on the odd-looking kitchen. He’d never been in a proper wizarding household before. The kitchen was small and somewhat cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle. The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like _Time to make tea_ and _You’re late_. Books were stacked on the mantelpiece with titles like _Charm Your Own Cheese_ , _Enchantment in Baking_ , and _One Minute Feasts — It’s Magic_! He made a note to check out the books later.

‘There you go, Alexander.’ She placed a tasty plate filled with eggs, several sausages and bacon, and bread in front of him. ‘Eat up – that’s it.’

‘Thank you – it looks delicious.’ He picked up his knife and fork and began to cut a piece of sausage.

‘Oh, you’re too kind, dear,’ she responded, though appeared mightily pleased.

Abruptly, Mrs Weasley grumbled under her breath angrily as she glared across the garden from the window. Gazing up to see what had caught her attention, his heart leapt as four familiar figures appeared in the distance, three with flaming red hair and the other with messy dark hair. Before he could react, however, Mrs Weasley opened the door and was now marching across the yard, scattering the chickens in her path. He grimaced. _Merde_. This was not going to end well. _Good luck, Ron_.

Mrs Weasley had left the door open, so he could only discern some words which were said. At first, he couldn’t hear anything and could only see the four boys’ pale faces in the distance as they tried to speak. Then fury burst forth and it was so loud and scolding that Alexander heard every word. His mouth dried.

‘Beds empty! No note! Car gone – could have crashed – out of my mind with worry – did you care? – never, as long as I’ve lived – you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —’ 

In all his time, he’s never heard anyone yell like that before. Grandfather’s anger was cold and biting in a deadly way that sometimes turned his body to ice and his mouth as thick as porridge. Mrs Weasley’s fury through her set of impressive lungs was enough to make him lose colour and her anger wasn’t even directed at him. He didn’t catch what Fred was saying but it must have been enough to provoke Mrs Weasley as her fuming continued like a spouting fountain as she pointed a finger feverishly.

‘YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK! You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job —’ 

Throughout the shrieking, he saw the humour in the situation, as he always did. Mrs Weasley, a short, plump woman, loomed over her taller sons who seemed to cower behind her. It was like watching a mouse frighten several elephants, and Alexander covered his hand over his mouth to prevent his sniggering.

After what appeared like decades, Mrs Weasley finally turned back towards the house, the four boys trailing after her. They sulked inside and their eyes lit up in astonishment as they spotted Alexander sitting in one of the chairs.

‘Alex!’ exclaimed Ron. ‘When did you get here?’ The twins and Harry gawked at him in amazement.

Before he could answer, Mrs Weasley glared at Ron who instantly quietened. ‘You would have known when Alexander came if you were here like you were supposed to be, Ronald Weasley!’ she snapped. ‘The absolute nerve of you three.’

He caught Harry’s eye from across the table and the two shared a feeling of mutual embarrassment. Mrs Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Now and then she muttered things like ‘don’t know what you were thinking of,’ and ‘never would have believed it.’

‘I don’t blame you, dear,’ she assured, turning to Harry and tipping numerous sausages onto his plate. ‘Arthur and I have been worried about you, too. Just last night we were saying we’d come and get you ourselves if you hadn’t written back to Ron by Friday. But really flying an illegal car halfway across the country – anyone could have seen you.’ 

Mrs Weasley’s remarks brought up the thought that had occupied him throughout the summer. He threw a questioning and demanding glance at Harry who mouthed the word ‘ _later_.’ He hesitated then reluctantly nodded. It’ll do for now.

Mrs Weasley flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background. He stared avidly. That would have been useful during the times Eliot made him wash the dishes with him.

‘It was cloudy, Mum!’ argued Fred.

‘You keep your mouth closed while you’re eating!’ glowered Mrs Weasley.

‘They were starving him, Mum!’ protested George.

‘And you!’

Alexander thought she was going to shout at Harry as well but it was with a marginally softened expression that she started cutting Harry’s bread and buttering it for him. Alexander hid his grin at Harry’s expense under his sip of tea. Harry appeared as if he’d rather be anywhere else but here, judging by his stiff smile which looked more like a grimace.

At that moment, a small, redheaded figure in a long nightdress appeared in the kitchen. It was the same girl that held Mrs Weasley’s hand on the Platform. Her wide brown eyes fell on Harry; she gave a small squeal and ran out again. Her footsteps pattered rapidly on the stairs.

‘Um, what was that all about?’ Alexander raised a confused eyebrow.

‘Ginny,’ said Ron in a low undertone. ‘My sister. She’s been talking about Harry all summer.’ Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

‘Oh, I see,’ he snickered, yet was careful to ensure Mrs Weasley didn’t hear.

‘Yeah, she’ll be wanting your autograph, Harry,’ Fred said with a smirk, but caught Mrs Weasley’s eye and bent over his plate without another word.

Nothing more was said until all five plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time. The others finished at the same time as him despite Alexander being served first. It was like they inhaled their food without swallowing. They must have been hungry from the car journey, surmised Alexander.

‘Blimey, I’m tired,’ yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. He stretched his arms out above his head. ‘I think I’ll go to bed —’ 

‘You will not,’ snapped Mrs Weasley. ‘It’s your own fault you’ve been up all night. You’re going to de-gnome the garden for me; they’re getting completely out of hand again.’ 

Fred groaned theatrically, throwing his head back.

‘And you two,’ she glared at Ron and George.

‘Oh, Mum —’ 

‘I don’t want to hear it. All three of you are going to help with the garden and _don’t_ even think about getting out of it.’ Her eyes fell on him and Harry. ‘Alexander, dear, you and Harry can both rest. None of you asked them to fly that wretched car.’ 

Alexander shiftily gazed down at his plate. This tops as one of the most uncomfortable situations of his life. ‘I’m not actually tired, Mrs Weasley,’ he professed.

‘Well, if you two are sure . . .’ she fussed.

Harry immediately refuted, ‘I’ll help Ron. I’ve never seen a de-gnoming before.’ 

‘That’s very sweet of you, Harry, but it’s dull work,’ informed Mrs Weasley. ‘Now, let’s see what Lockhart’s got to say on the subject.’ She browsed through the books on the mantlepiece.

‘De-gnoming?’ Alexander inquired at Ron.

Ron nodded glumly, eyes downcast. Alexander felt that he was avoiding his mother’s gaze. ‘Yeah, it’s to get rid of the gnomes in the garden, basically. You just pick them up and throw them. Some of them are tricky little blighters.’

Alexander blinked. Gnomes? Those statue-like figures in the garden? Before he could clear up his confusion by asking Ron to clarify, Mrs Weasley had walked back to the table with a heavy book.

George groaned. ‘Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden,’ he whined, and his mother ignored him, placing the book on the table so it was visible to all.

Appealed by his curiosity about de-gnoming, Alexander peered at the cover of Mrs Weasley’s book. Written across in embellished gold letters were the words _Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Household Pests_. There was a big photograph on the front of a wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. _That must be Gilderoy Lockhart_ , he thought. The photograph was moving and Lockhart kept winking boldly up at them all. Alexander stared. There was only so much a person could wink but this Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to be breaking records. Mrs Weasley, for some reason, seemed to adore it.

‘Oh, he is marvellous,’ she beamed. ‘He knows his household pests, all right, it’s a wonderful book.’

Alexander raised an eyebrow. Garden gnomes as pests?

‘Mum fancies him,’ whispered Fred audibly, and Alexander concealed a smirk behind his hand.

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Fred,’ retorted Mrs Weasley. Her cheeks, however, were rather pink and she wouldn’t stare directly at them. ‘All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betides you if there’s a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it.’

Alexander offered to help clear the table but she adamantly refused and waved him outside to enjoy himself. Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys rose to their feet and slouched outside with Harry and Alexander after them.

The garden was large and wide with space. Most of the houses in London had gardens, of course, but they were little and confined. Opportunities for green space came mostly from parks and squares. The Weasley’s garden was not exactly neat, in his opinion – it was a chaotic, overgrown space. There were numerous weeds and the grass needed cutting; gnarled trees environed the walls and plants spilt from every flower bed. The most memorable was a big green pond full of frogs.

Alexander sauntered across the lawn to where the other boys had travelled ahead and were bent, head down in peony bushes, seemingly searching for something.

‘How are gnomes supposed to look like?’ Alexander asked curiously as he came closer, his stare focused on the bush.

There was a sudden violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightened up. ‘Like this,’ he declared grimly.

Alexander ogled the peculiar creature. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, lumpy, bald head exactly like a potato.

‘That is, honestly, one of the ugliest things I’ve seen,’ he widened his eyes then smirked. ‘Well, that and Ron’s face, I guess.’

‘Oi! Git!’ yelled Ron half-heartedly over the sound of Harry’s laughter. He threw Alexander an exasperated look. ‘You could help as well, you know.’ 

‘Yes, I could,’ Alexander agreed and remained watching the wriggling gnome, his hands shoved into his pocket jeans.

Before Ron could open his mouth to complain, the gnome caught his attention. ‘Gerroff me! Gerroff me!’ squealed the gnome. Ron held it at arm’s length as it kicked out at him with its tiny feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down. ‘This is what you have to do,’ he muttered through gritted teeth.

Alexander watched in horrified fascination as Ron raised the gnome, who was still bellowing, above his head and started to swing it in great circles.

‘Ron, doesn’t it hurt them?’ he asked, his tone one of alarm.

Ron hastily shook his head in reassurance, ‘No, not really – you’ve just got to make them really dizzy so they can’t find their way back to the gnome-holes.’

Ron let go of the gnome’s ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge. Alexander raised a hand to squint over the bright rays of the sun to see where the gnome was thrown.

‘Pitiful,’ commented Fred. ‘I bet I can get mine beyond that stump.’

Fred managed to throw his a few inches from the stump, causing him to curse under his breath and try again. Harry’s try was significantly better, as he threw his over fifty-feet. Alexander whistled in admiration. The air was soon thick with flying gnomes. An increasing number started to appear and the area became overrun with gnomes. One almost came close to his feet until Harry snatched it up and sent it flying over the distance.

‘See, the moment they know the de-gnoming’s going on, they storm up to have a look,’ panted George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. ‘You’d think they’d have learned by now just to stay put.’ 

‘They don’t seem too bright,’ observed Alexander.

‘They’re not,’ huffed Fred, lobbing another one over, ‘and a pain in my arse at that.’

Soon, the crowd of gnomes started to walk away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

‘They’ll be back,’ nodded Ron as they watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. ‘They love it here. Dad’s too soft with them; he thinks they’re funny.’

Alexander snorts. ‘Bet your mum loves that.’

A loud slam echoed from where they were. The Weasleys lit up in excitement.

‘He’s back!’ exclaimed George. ‘Dad’s home!’

Harry and Alexander bustled through the garden and back into the house. Mr Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man with a tiny amount of hair, as red as his children’s. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.

‘Hello, Mr Weasley,’ greeted Alexander. It would have been rude to simply walk into the man’s house without acknowledging him.

The man’s eyes opened to stare impassively at him through half-open eyes before flashing into recognition. ‘Ah, Alexander, am I right? Yes, Molly told me you would be coming today. It’s very nice to meet you.’ He beamed a kind though tired smile.

‘Nice to see you, too, sir.’ He took his seat with the others.

‘How’s your Grandfather, Alexander?’ asked Mr Weasley, groping for the teapot.

‘He’s great, sir. He sends his thanks for letting me stay.’

‘Oh, not to worry.’ Mr Weasley paused for a moment before speaking. ‘I met him once, I believe, two years ago.’

‘At the ministry, sir?’

‘Yes,’ nodded Mr Weasley with a thoughtful furrow of the brow while cutting up a piece of his breakfast. ‘Just a brief greeting, mind you, but he seems an amiable fellow if a bit stern. He’s doing exceedingly well for himself.’

Alexander quirked his lips upwards proudly. Yes, that sounded like Grandfather. He made a mental note to ask him later about Mr Weasley.

‘Speaking of the ministry, what a night.’ Mr Weasley took a long gulp of tea and heaved a great sigh. ‘Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned.’

‘Find anything, Dad?’ urged Fred eagerly.

‘All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle,’ yawned Mr Weasley. ‘There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn’t my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that’s the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness.’

Alexander glanced up attentively. Biting kettles and shrinking door keys sounded intriguing. An unwanted memory intruded on him. So why would the man at the party hate working for the ministry then? Again, he probably shouldn’t be looking too much into the raving thoughts of a drunk man.

‘Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?’ said George.

‘Just Muggle-baiting,’ exhaled Mr Weasley. ‘Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it. Of course, it’s very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking – they’ll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they’ll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it’s staring them in the face. But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn’t believe —’ 

‘LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?’ Mrs Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword.

Alexander jolted at the loud abrupt voice that appeared in the room. He’ll never get used to Mrs Weasley’s shouting and prayed it would never be directed at him. A slight bundle of sympathy pooled in his chest for Ron’s father.

Mr Weasley stared guiltily at his wife. ‘C-cars, Molly, dear?’

‘Yes, Arthur, _cars_ ,’ snapped Mrs Weasley, her eyes flashing. ‘Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while actually, he was enchanting it to make it fly.’

Alexander ran a hand through his hair and flew his eyes anywhere around the room. What he would give not to be here right this second.

Mr Weasley blinked. ‘Well, dear, I think you’ll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if – er – he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth. There’s a loophole in the law, you’ll find. As long as he wasn’t _intending_ to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn’t —’ 

‘Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!’ shouted Mrs Weasley. The poker she pointed at Mr Weasley made her a formidable figure. ‘Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren’t intending to fly!’

‘Harry?’ repeated Mr Weasley blankly. ‘Harry who?’ He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped. ‘Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you.’ 

Alexander watched Harry smile grimly back, looking as awkward and he himself felt.

‘Your sons flew that car to Harry’s house and back last night!’ cried Mrs Weasley. ‘What have you got to say about that, eh?’

‘Did you really?’ hastened Mr Weasley in a tone of eagerness. ‘Did it go all right?’

This was the wrong thing to say as what appeared to be like sparks flew dangerously from Mrs Weasley’s eyes. It was remarkable, he thought, how Ron’s mother could shift from kind and caring to a raging storm. He imagined his own mother as having a bad temper if she were with him.

‘I – I mean,’ faltered Mr Weasley, ‘that – that was very wrong, boys – very wrong.’

‘Wrong, _indeed_ ,’ snarled Mrs Weasley.

Alexander caught Ron’s eyes and sent a desperate look towards him. Ron finally understood and gave a curt nod.

‘Right, let’s leave them to it,’ muttered Ron as Mrs Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. ‘Come on, I’ll show you guys my bedroom.’

Without hesitating, Alexander and Harry followed Ron up the twisting stairs. Mrs Weasley’s shouting grew fainter as they climbed the levels. On the third landing, a door suddenly slammed shut before Alexander could identify who it was.

‘Ginny,’ said Ron. ‘You don’t know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally.’

‘It must run in the family because neither do you,’ Alexander smirked teasingly.

‘Yeah, alright, Alex,’ Ron rolled his eyes.

They climbed two more flights until they reached the door with peeling paint. Alexander took in Ron’s room properly than he was able to before. Nearly everything appeared to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling.

‘Um. . .’ began Alexander hesitantly, ‘well, it’s consistent, I’ll give it that.’

Ron shrugged then his gaze fell on Alexander’s trunk. ‘Oh, hey, your trunk’s already here.’

‘Hm, oh, yeah,’ said Alexander, ‘your mum said to put my stuff in here.’

Every inch of the shabby wallpaper was hidden in posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically.

‘Your Quidditch team?’ asked Harry, staring at the posters.

‘The Chudley Cannons,’ beamed Ron proudly, pointing at the orange bedspread, which was emblazoned with two giant black C’s and a speeding cannonball. ‘Ninth in the league.’

‘Isn’t that like. . . last?’ Alexander raised an eyebrow.

‘Yeah, it is, but they have a chance this year,’ dismissed Ron with a breezy and hopeful tone. ‘We’re gonna move up the league board this time.’

He shook his head but didn’t comment anymore. He certainly did not point out that the Chudley Cannons have been last in the league for several seasons and almost certainly this season as well. Ron looked too optimistic for him to burst his bubble.

Ron’s wand lay on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat grey rat, Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun. Harry shuffled across to the tiny window. Ron’s school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of comics that all seemed to feature _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_. _Weird_ , thought Alexander, taking a closer look. It appeared like any other comic, bold and colourful, except the images was moving like the wizard photographs.

‘Hey, Ron, do you mind if I read this?’ he asked, picking up the comic and flicking through it.

Ron’s gaze dropped to the comic. ‘Nah, mate, you can read it,’ he shrugged, ‘I must have read it about a million times already.’

‘Thanks,’ he threw a smile, placing the comic down on the table, making a mental for later. Then he turned to look at Harry, who was watching outside the window. Ron appeared nervous as his eyes shifted from both Alexander and Harry, as though waiting for something.

‘It’s a bit small,’ burst Ron quickly.

It took him a second to realise that Ron was talking about the bedroom.

Ron continued, ‘Not like that room you had with the Muggles. Or the house you probably live in, Alexander. And I’m right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he’s always banging on the pipes and groaning —’

‘Ron,’ he interjected before Ron could rush on, ‘it’s great.’ 

The redhead swallowed and glanced anxiously at Harry, who was nodding in agreement.

Grinning widely, Harry declared, ‘This is the best house I’ve ever been in.’

Alexander pursed his lips to suppress a chuckle as Ron’s ears visibly turned pink.

‘So,’ said Ron, conspicuously trying to change the subject, ‘what do you want to do? Play Quidditch?’ His last question was spoken with a touch of hope.

‘Yeah,’ smiled Harry eagerly, ‘lets.’

Just then, their attention was captured on Hedwig flying in through the window and perching on the windowsill, her feathers ruffled. A thought flared in Alexander’s mind and he turned to stare at Harry with a demanding frown. Harry glanced in surprise at his shift in mood.

‘Right, now that we’re here,’ he began in an insistent tone, ‘would you mind telling me, Harry, why you were ignoring all of our letters over the summer? Why didn’t you write back?’

Harry’s eyes widened. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ he defended. ‘Some house-elf named Dobby was keeping my letters from me.’ Harry then proceeded to explain to him all of the unfortunate events that had happened when Dobby arrived.

Alexander glimpsed at Ron. ‘That’s what you meant when you said they were starving him. They put bars on his window?’ he asked outraged. 

Ron’s expression turned dark. ‘Yeah, I know,’ he muttered.

‘That doesn’t matter, _look_ ,’ said Harry, appearing uncomfortable, ‘someone’s trying to stop me from going to Hogwarts. Someone must have sent Dobby to stop me.’

Alexander frowned thoughtfully. ‘It sounds dodgy, I'll admit. This Dobby, right, did he let it slip about who was behind it?’

‘He couldn’t,’ denied Harry. ‘It was sort of weird in a sense – every time he got close, he started banging his head against the wall.’

‘Yeah, that’s a house-elf, alright,’ scoffed Ron. ‘Mum’s always wishing we had one to do the ironing. But house-elves come with big old manors and castles – places like that I mean; you wouldn’t catch one in this house.’ Ron sounded a tad bitter as he stared down at his shoes.

‘So, not many people have them nowadays. Who do we know probably has one?’ Alexander chewed on his lip. Even as he spoke the last sentence, the most blatant name popped into Alexander's mind, one with bleached blond hair and a pale face. The ferret had boasted of the large manor he lived in last year in Hogwarts to anyone who bothered to listen, usually Crabbe and Goyle.

‘Malfoy,’ chimed Harry and Ron together.

‘Right,’ he muttered. ‘Of course.’

‘What if it’s all a joke,’ pointed out Ron. ‘Malfoy’s bound to send his family servant to stop Harry from coming to Hogwarts as a laugh.’

Harry shrugged, staring out of the window again.

Alexander hummed, ‘Maybe. . .’ He desperately hoped that was the case and not some sinister motive.


	4. Troublesome Pests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not one of the best chapters I've done in my opinion.

Life at the Burrow was certainly entertaining. It was much more crowded and chaotic than Alexander was used to. Usually, it would just be him and Eliot at home with Grandfather at work, but here with the rowdiness, there was never a dull moment. Not when the Weasleys’ house flowed with the strange and unexpected.

Mrs Weasley, Alexander discovered, was a fusser – she liked to fret over the children over everything, which was nice to experience as Grandfather had never done that before. Mr Weasley was fascinated with anything muggle and would constantly bombard Harry and Alexander with questions about ordinary Muggle objects and systems.

After a week of being at the Burrow, Alexander received his letter from Hogwarts on a sun-drenched morning. He was already at the breakfast table, before Ron and Harry woke up, much to Mrs Weasley’s shock, who worried that he wasn’t getting enough sleep. He usually was the third person in the house to wake up, the others being Mr and Mrs Weasley, of course.

Ginny traipsed into the kitchen and sat on the table, giving him a sluggish little wave when she recognised him. The youngest Weasley was quiet but seemed nice enough. When Harry and Ron trudged in, yawning and bleary-eyed, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge bowl to the floor when her gaze fell on Harry. The bowl fell with a loud clatter, and Alexander peered up, startled, as he chewed his toast. Ron hadn’t even noticed, as the minute Mrs Weasley placed a plate of food on the table, his focus was cut off from anything that wasn’t sausages and hash browns. Harry hardly batted an eyelash and smiled when Mrs Weasley offered him a plate. Ginny dived under the table to retrieve the bowl then emerged with a face as red as strawberries in May. Shrugging, Alexander turned to greet the two boys who mumbled back, Harry a tad clearer than Ron.

‘Letters from school,’ said Mr Weasley.

He passed the three boys identical envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in green ink. Alexander’s heart still leapt at the familiar sight of the envelope. The letter in his hand was the same as it had been last year except that the location was addressed to the Burrow.

‘Dumbledore already knows you’re here – doesn’t miss a trick, that man. You two’ve got them, too,’ Mr Weasley added, as Fred and George ambled in, still in their pyjamas.

Alexander addressed Ron in a questioning tone, with Harry close enough to hear. ‘Is Professor Dumbledore the one who writes everyone’s letter?’

Ron frowned thoughtfully, then shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I mean, that’s too many people for one wizard. But I’ve never really thought about it, to be honest. Why?’

‘Oh, I just thought that’s probably how he knows Harry and I are here.’

‘Who knows,’ shrugged Harry, ‘it’s Dumbledore, after all.’

For a few minutes, there was silence as they all read their letters. The first sheet was an expected reminder informing him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King’s Cross on September first. The second parchment, however, detailed new books for the coming year. Alexander scanned the page, checking to see if anything stood out to him. There seemed to be a common theme this year regarding one specific author:

Second-year students will require:

 _The Standard Book of Spells, Year Two_ by Miranda Goshawk

 _Break with a Banshee_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

 _Gadding with Ghouls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

 _Holidays with Hags_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

 _Travels with Trolls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

 _Voyages with Vampires_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

 _Wanderings with Werewolves_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

 _Year with the Yeti_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

Alexander raised an eyebrow. How many books had this Gilderoy Lockhart written exactly? He must be a knowledgeable and capable wizard, then, if he knew so much. Truthfully, he had seen a section of Lockhart’s books in Flourish and Blotts but didn’t have time to thoroughly browse. The subjects themselves sounded very intriguing, particularly Vampires and Werewolves. He supposed that if magic existed then why not other legendary creatures? It made him wonder how many other mythical creatures, that muggles had been told were a figment of overactive imaginations, actually existed.

Fred, who had finished reading his own list, exclaimed, as he peered over Harry’s shoulder, ‘You’ve been told to get all Lockhart’s books, too, Harry!’ he said, then craning his head over the table, caught a glimpse of Alexander’s letter, ‘ _and_ Alex as well. We’ve all got the same one.’

‘I guess this doesn’t usually happen. Lockhart books, I mean,’ asked Alexander, placing the two pieces of thin parchment neatly back inside the envelope.

‘No, not even close,’ replied Fred, then gave a wicked smirk. ‘The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan – bet it’s a witch.’ Fred caught his mother’s warning eye and quickly busied himself with the marmalade.

Alexander nudged closer to Harry and Ron and, making sure no one overheard, quietly muttered, ‘Hopefully, whoever we have this year, they can’t be as worse as Quirrell.’

Harry nodded in agreement yet furrowed his brows in a worried crease. Alexander reckoned he was thinking of Dobby’s strange warnings.

‘Don’t jinx it,’ cautioned Ron, ‘you never know – they could be worse somehow.’

‘Worse than Voldemort?’ pointed out Harry, and both Harry and Alexander ignored Ron’s sharp inhale and the loud clatter as the redhead knocked his elbow against his plate.

Before any of them could speak, George voiced, ‘That lot won’t come cheap.’ He was talking about Lockhart’s books, and George, with a quick look at his parents, added, ‘Lockhart’s books are really expensive.’

‘Well, we’ll manage,’ answered Mrs Weasley, but the biting of her lip revealed her worry. ‘I expect we’ll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny’s things second-hand.’

Alexander shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze dropping to his plate. Worrying about money had never crossed his mind as Grandfather, even without his job, was decently affluent. His Grandfather had always made sure he had every possible opportunity, including private tutors for the violin and the piano. Right then, however, he felt unease bubble in his stomach.

‘Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?’ Harry asked Ginny.

Before Ginny could reply, Percy walked in. He was already dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his sweater vest.

‘Morning, all,’ said Percy briskly, offering a curt nod. ‘Lovely day.’

He sat down in the only remaining chair but leapt up again almost immediately, pulling from underneath him what seemed to Alexander a moulted, grey feather duster. Peering closer, however, the grey feather appeared to be breathing heavily, in an almost alarming way.

‘Errol!’ moaned Ron, grabbing the limp owl from Percy and extracting a letter from under its wing.

‘Is he okay?’ asked Alexander concernedly, watching Errol’s eyes drop half-head.

‘Oh, he’ll be fine,’ dismissed Ron with the wave of his hand. ‘Just needs a few hours rest.’ His attention was then fixed on the letter he tore open. ‘Finally – he’s got Hermione’s answer. I wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue Harry from the Dursleys.’

Alexander straightened, curious to hear from his other best friend. His previous letter had been short, where he told her that he was visiting the Burrow, but it seemed so long ago. Ron carried Errol to a perch just inside the back door and tried to stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off again. 

‘Ron, I think you should just leave him,’ suggested Alexander. ‘I don’t think he even has the strength to stand.’

Ron, shaking his head, lay Errol on the draining board. ‘Pathetic,’ he grumbled, ‘completely useless.’ Then he ripped open Hermione’s letter, and Alexander watched as his eyes scanned across the page.

‘Read it out loud,’ he urged.

Ron nodded then read:

_‘Dear Ron, Alexander, and Harry if you’re there,_

_I hope everything went all right and that Harry is okay and that you didn’t do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because it wouldn’t be good for the both of you. I’m grateful Alexander wasn’t there otherwise he would be in serious trouble, too. I’ve been really worried all this time and, if Harry is all right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be better if you used a different owl, because I think another delivery might finish your one off.’_

‘She has a point,’ interrupted Alexander, with a side-glance at Errol. ‘He already looks lifeless.’

‘We can’t,’ frowned Ron, making sure his parents didn’t overhear, ‘we can’t afford another owl – not right now.’

There was an awkward silence as Alexander became quiet. Ron shook himself out of his mind and continued reading: _‘I’m very busy with schoolwork, of course.’_

‘How can she be?’ blurted out Ron in horror, staring up.

‘Are you telling me you haven’t even started yet?’ Alexander raised an eyebrow.

‘We’re on holiday!’ 

‘Go on,’ gestured Harry to the letter, snickering, ‘what else does she say?’

_‘And we’re going to London next Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don’t we meet in Diagon Alley? Let me know what’s happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione.’_

Mrs Weasley beamed as she approached, picking up a few plates from the table. ‘Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too. Now, what’re you all up to today?’

‘We were gonna play Quidditch, mum,’ answered Fred. ‘Near the usual spot.’

Mrs Weasley waved her wand and the plates started scrubbing themselves. The marvel of that will never get old for Alexander. Mrs Weasley turned around and placed her hand on her hips.

‘That’s fine but remember to keep close. Don’t fly too high,’ she warned with a glare directed mostly towards the twins, ‘And be back in time for tea.’

Fred and George smiled angelically, both the picture of pure goodness. Ron nodded, impatient to be up in the air. The five of them made their way up the hill to a small paddock the Weasleys owned. It was surrounded by trees that blocked it from the view of the village below. Alexander understood what Mrs Weasley said about not flying too high.

They couldn’t use real Quidditch balls, as they would have escaped and flown away over the village; instead, they threw apples for one another to catch. Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand was easily the best broom there. Alexander borrowed Charlie’s old broom which was a dated Cleansweep from the broomstick cupboard. The handle was rusting and some of the twigs were bent yet it was in better condition than Ron’s old Shooting Star, which was often outstripped by passing butterflies.

The twins had asked (more like demanded) if Percy wanted to join them, but he had said he was busy. Percy appeared only at mealtimes so far but mostly remained shut in his room.

‘Wish I knew what he’s up to,’ muttered Fred, frowning. ‘He’s not himself. His exam results came the day before you did; twelve O.W.L.s and he hardly gloated at all.’

‘Maybe he’s trying to be modest, you never know,’ jested Alexander.

Fred snorted loudly with laughter. ‘Percy – modest? Right, that’ll be the day,’ he states drily.

‘Um, what’s O.W.L.s?’ asked Harry with a puzzled expression.

‘Ordinary Wizarding Levels,’ George explained, ‘Bill got twelve, too. If we’re not careful, we’ll have another Head Boy in the family. I don’t think I could stand the shame.’

‘I wouldn’t show my face again,’ said Fred.

‘And what a shame that’ll be,’ smirked Alexander, causing Fred to lightly shove him.

‘Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this year,’ confessed George after a while. ‘Five sets of Lockhart books! And Ginny needs robes and a wand and everything.’

Alexander stared at his feet, suddenly finding the dry, patchy grass enthralling. When they reached the paddock, however, the twins had forgotten about that worry, at least for a few hours, and wide, careless grins were painted on their faces as they whooped and cheered throughout the game. Alexander felt a few seconds of vertigo as he soared into the air and almost felt as if he’d lost control of the broom but quickly learnt to adapt. He wasn’t remarkable at Quidditch by any means, but he was a decent player.

∞ ϟ 9¾

Mrs Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday. After a quick breakfast of delicious bacon sandwiches which left them full, Alexander donned a light jean jacket, seeing as the weather was warm and breezy that day. Mrs Weasley took a flowerpot off the mantelpiece and peered inside.

‘We’re running low, Arthur,’ she sighed. ‘We’ll have to buy some more today.’

Alexander knew she was talking about Floo powder, as the Weasleys probably didn’t know how to travel by train. He was already dreading this part of the journey.

‘Ah well, guests first!’ said Mrs Weasley as she gave a kind smile at Harry. ‘After you, Harry, dear! Alexander will be right behind you.’

She offered Harry the flowerpot, who could not have appeared more clueless than he did then. He resembled what Crabbe and Goyle looked like every day of their lives, just as oblivious and dense. Alexander pursed his lips to prevent the chuckle that rose.

‘W-what am I supposed to do?’ Harry stammered.

‘He’s never travelled by Floo powder,’ realised Ron suddenly, then turned apologetically to Harry, ‘Sorry, Harry, I forgot.’

Alexander shook his head in exasperation. He swore that the whole world could disappear and Ron would only notice at the last second.

‘Never?’ pressed Mr Weasley incredulously. He shifted his eyes between Alexander and Harry, ‘How did you two get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?’

‘I went in my Grandfather’s car,’ informed Alexander. ‘To the Leaky Cauldon.’

‘Ah, yes,’ nodded Mr Weasley, ‘that’s one way of going. How about you, Harry?’

‘I went on the Underground.’ 

‘Really?’ said Mr Weasley eagerly, lighting up. ‘Were there escapators?’

‘Escalators, Mr Weasley,’ corrected Alexander with a polite though amused smile.

‘ _Really_. How marvellous – and how exactly —’ 

‘Not now, Arthur,’ interjected Mrs Weasley. ‘Floo powder’s a lot quicker, dear.’

‘It is, Harry,’ admitted Alexander and Harry’s gazed rested questioningly on him. ‘Though it’s a, uh, well, a lot . . . dizzier, if you will.’

Mrs Weasley’s fretting settling in, ‘Goodness me, if you’ve never used it —’ 

‘He’ll be all right, Mum,’ interrupted Fred. ‘Harry, watch us first.’

He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames. With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, ‘Diagon Alley!’ and vanished. Alexander saw Harry’s face pale considerably and felt a wave of sympathy. It did look absurd to watch someone step into the dangerous flames of the fire.

‘You must speak clearly, dear,’ Mrs Weasley told Harry as George dipped his hand into the flowerpot. ‘And be sure to get out at the right grate.’

Alexander hardly heard Harry’s reply as the fire roared, cutting off all sound, and whipped George out of sight, too.

‘There are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know, but as long as you’ve spoken clearly —’ 

‘He’ll be fine, Molly, don’t fuss,’ said Mr Weasley, helping himself to Floo powder.

‘But, dear, if he got lost, how would we ever explain to his aunt and uncle?’

Alexander doubted Harry’s relatives cared much about what happened to his friend. A surge of anger welled up as his thoughts turned dark. Mrs Weasley’s voice brought him back to the Weasley’s living room.

‘All right – you go after Arthur,’ directed Mrs Weasley. ‘Now, when you get into the fire, say where you’re going.’

Harry’s uneasy expression fell on Alexander. ‘Just, um . . . brace yourself,’ he advised with a grimace, ‘it’s not going to be pretty.’

‘And keep your elbows tucked in,’ Ron instructed.

‘And your eyes shut,’ finished Mrs Weasley.

‘The soot —’ began Harry.

‘Don’t fidget,’ cautioned Ron. ‘Or you might well fall out of the wrong fireplace. But don’t panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and George.’

Harry swallowed but shuffled closer to Mrs Weasley’s out-stretched hands and took a pinch of Floo Powder. He then walked to the edge of the fire, and Alexander saw his chest rise in a deep inhale. Harry scattered the powder into the flames and stepped forward. He opened his mouth coughed out ‘D-Dia-gon Alley.’ Harry disappeared in the flames as quickly as he uttered the words.

Alexander's mouth dropped. That was not said clearly. Harry might end up in the wrong place. He shared a look with Ron who looked as shocked as he did. Of course, Harry would be in some trouble with something like Floo travel.

‘ _Oh, no_!’ said a panicked Mrs Weasley, ‘that poor boy is going to end up at the wrong place. He didn’t say it clearly.’

‘Don’t worry, mum,’ reassured Ron, though even he appeared concerned, ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.’

‘Go on, Alexander, dear,’ said Mrs Weasley distractedly. ‘You go before Ron.’

He took a pinch of Floo Powder, threw it into the fire, and stepped inside, ducking his head to avoid being hit by the low arch of the fireplace. Swiftly evading the hot ash that almost entered his mouth, Alexander declared, ‘Diagon Alley’. Familiar sensations came back to him, yet this time he was expecting it, so he didn’t feel as hazy. When he fell out, he ensured to plant his feet firmly into the ground instead of falling over like before. The soot and ash still lingered.

He peered at the peculiar surroundings. They had come out of another fireplace but there wasn’t just one. All around him, several fireplaces encircled the area and people were bursting out of them in pairs or groups.

‘Alexi-boy, you made it,’ grinned Fred then examined behind him, ‘where’s Harry?’

Alexander hesitated before admitting, ‘I think he might be somewhere else.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Mr Weasley urgently.

‘I don’t think Harry said the gate clearly.’ He chewed on his lip worriedly.

Mr Weasley muttered under his breath. ‘Molly must be going out of her mind with worry.’ Then turning to them he warned, ‘Boys, stick together. God knows what I would have had to tell your Grandfather if you became lost, Alexander.’

With one eye on the stone fireplace, Mr Weasley whipped out his wand and waved it wordlessly. The remains disappeared from his body; Alexander smoothed down his hair as he thanked Mr Weasley. Ron, Ginny, and Mrs Weasley quickly appeared after, and Mrs Weasley’s eyes scanned the group for Harry.

‘Oh, Arthur,’ she wailed, ‘what are we going to do? Poor Harry’s ended up in a different grate all alone.’

‘Not to worry, Molly, I’m sure he’s not too far.’

Ron huddled closer to Alexander and leaned in to murmur, ‘Where do you think Harry’s ended up?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he shook his head, brows furrowed anxiously. ‘Hopefully not too far.’

Ron stared shiftily at his parents and brothers then lowering his voice whispered, ‘I say if we don’t find him soon, me and you go look for him ourselves, agreed?’

Alexander found that he approved of the idea very much. Although he’d certainly feel guilty for leaving Mr and Mrs Weasley without informing them. But what other choice did they have? ‘Agreed,’ he nodded.

The Weasley family and Alexander found themselves in the familiar twisting streets of Diagon Alley. Mrs Weasley, along with Ginny, had wandered behind, searching desperately for any sight of Harry. For some reason, today was extra jammed with people bumping into each other. Alexander was almost battered by a handbag by a small, elderly witch when he accidentally knocked into her if Ron didn’t quickly pull him away by the arm. The elderly witch was then swarmed by the throng. The twins’ tall stature allowed them to gaze across and guide the rest along. The looming, marble building of Gringotts appeared in the distance where they were headed.

George yelled, ‘Dad, look – Harry’s there!’

As a group of individuals moved out of Alexander’s way, the unmistakable sight of a messy-haired boy with spectacles was in front of them. But he wasn’t alone. Next to Harry was the towering figure of Hagrid and the bushy hair of Hermione, which Alexander could spot miles away.

‘Quick, before we lose him!’ cried Mr Weasley, sprinting ahead, and the twins, Alexander and Ron quickly overtook him. The gentle wind breezed through Alexander's hair as they raced towards Harry.

Harry and Hermione must have spotted them because they turned around with wide-eyes as the group came sprinting up to them. Hermione’s brown eyes lit up.

‘Alexander! Ron!’

He was suddenly engulfed in a huge embrace and a load of bunched up bushy hair. She pulled back and favoured him with a joyful smile that stretched across her cheeks and her large front teeth were placed on full display. Her smile was contagious and Alexander couldn’t help grinning back.

‘It’s so great to see you guys again,’ said Hermione happily.

Just then, Mr Weasley caught up to the rest of them. ‘Harry,’ he panted. ‘We hoped you’d only gone one grate too far.’ He mopped his glistening bald patch. ‘Molly’s frantic – she’s coming now.’

‘ _Merde_ , Harry, you gave us all a surprise,’ chuckled Alexander.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to,’ said a contrite Harry. His glasses were broken and Alexander doubted he could see very well.

‘What happened to your glasses?’ he inquired, squinting.

Harry reddened. ‘Oh, I, uh, broke them when I came out of the fireplace.’

‘Where did you come out?’ Ron asked curiously.

‘Knockturn Alley,’ said Hagrid grimly.

‘Excellent!’ chimed Fred and George together.

‘We’ve never been allowed in,’ confessed Ron enviously.

Alexander was briefly aware of Knockturn Alley’s reputation. The last time he had come to Diagon Alley had been with his Grandfather. An arrow in the shape of a hand pointed Knockturn Alley’s sinister route. Before Alexander could drift towards that spot, Grandfather had harshly warned Alexander to keep away from there. Shady people revelled in those quarters.

‘I should ruddy well think not,’ growled Hagrid.

Mrs Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly in one hand, Ginny clinging onto the other.

‘Oh, Harry – oh, Harry – you could have been anywhere.’ Gasping for breath, she pulled her wand out of her bag and the soot disappeared. Mr Weasley took Harry’s cracked glasses, gave them a tap of his wand, and returned them, good as new.

‘Well, gotta be off,’ announced Hagrid, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs Weasley.

‘Knockturn Alley! If you hadn’t found him, Hagrid! I don’t know what I would have done.’

‘Think nothin’ of it, Mrs Weasley,’ beamed Hagrid under his shaggy beard. ‘See yer at Hogwarts!’ And he strode away, head and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

‘Right,’ sighed Mrs Weasley in relief now that her worry had been settled, ‘let’s go to Gringotts first.’

‘Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?’ Harry asked Alexander, Ron, and Hermione as they climbed the Gringotts steps. ‘Malfoy and his father.’

Alexander shook his head. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised seeing those two in there.’ Judging by the weird feeling he sensed from Malfoy Senior during the Ministry Ball, Knockturn Alley seemed exactly the type of place he would lurk.

‘Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?’ came Mr Weasley’s sharp voice from behind them.

‘No, he was selling,’ notified Harry.

‘So he’s worried,’ said Mr Weasley with grim satisfaction.

Alexander saw the satisfied smile on the man’s face. Interest bloomed in his chest like a marigold flower. Mr Weasley definitely did not like Mr Malfoy.

‘Oh, I’d love to get Lucius Malfoy for something,’ mumbled Mr Weasley in a bitter tone.

The same goblin as before was waiting at the door the last time he was here. He wondered if the goblin remembered every person that walked past their doors.

‘You be careful, Arthur,’ replied Mrs Weasley sharply as they were bowed into the bank by the goblin at the door. ‘That family’s trouble. Don’t go biting off more than you can chew.’

‘So you don’t think I’m a match for Lucius Malfoy?’ said Mr Weasley indignantly.

But Mr Weasley was distracted almost at once by the sight of Hermione’s parents, who were standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them. Mr Granger had the same hair as Hermione, all bushy and thick, although it was much tamer than Hermione’s was, the resemblance was uncanny. Mrs Granger was smaller than her husband but both appeared to be awed and bewildered by the rich furnishings of the bank and the goblins. 

‘But you’re Muggles!’ said Mr Weasley delightedly. ‘We must have a drink! What’s that you’ve got there? Oh, you’re changing Muggle money. Molly, look!’ He pointed excitedly at the ten-pound notes in Mr Granger’s hand.

Alexander didn’t get the chance to greet Hermione's parents as a goblin had to lead him separately towards his own vault. Grandfather had given him the key before he left. Mrs Weasley, as anticipated, was concerned at this proceeding.

‘We just got Harry back, not even ten minutes ago,’ vexed Mrs Weasley, ‘we can’t afford to leave Alexander on his own. Whatever shall we tell his Grandfather.’ She turned to the unimpressed goblin. ‘Surely you can’t expect a young boy to go off on his own?’

‘No one apart from Mr Laurent, his guardian or an accompanying goblin can enter the vault. It’s a strict policy set by the young Mr Laurent’s guardian.’

‘It’s okay, Mrs Weasley,’ reassured Alexander, ‘I’ll be fine.’

Mrs Weasley didn’t look happy but there was not much she could do to override the decisions of the goblins, who were waiting impatiently. ‘Well. . . alright then, be careful, dear.’

‘Meet you back here,’ Ron said, as the Weasleys and Harry were led off to their underground vaults. Hermione and her parents followed a goblin behind some doors.

‘This way, Mr Laurent,’ said a different goblin, who escorted him to the same narrow stone passageway as last time.

When Alexander entered the vault, the coins had not diminished. There were still piles and piles of them in every inch of the vault. Remembering the bottomless pouch, Alexander similarly asked for one and then stacked enough coins into the small pouch.

‘Uh, Norlack, sir,’ he began as the goblin watched him with eyes of a hawk, ‘Is this all of the Laurent’s money?’

Norlack slowly assessed him. ‘If you wish to discuss your balance and assets, you and your guardian have to make an appointment with one of the goblins at the counter who would be happy to assist you.’ 

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ he sighed. Alexander finished collecting enough coins for his shopping and the rest of the year.

Back outside on the marble steps, with the sun gleaming in their eyes, they all met again. Alexander politely greeted Hermione’s parents, who couldn’t stop their eyes from racing from brightly displayed shops nearby. Mrs Weasley scanned his form and relaxed when she was satisfied that he’d been unharmed. They all decided to separate afterwards. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George spotted their friend, Lee Jordan, and begged to go see him. Mrs Weasley and Ginny were going to a second-hand robe shop. Mr Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

‘We’ll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your schoolbooks,’ said Mrs Weasley, setting off with Ginny. ‘And not one step down Knockturn Alley!’ she shouted at the twins’ retreating backs.

‘Reckon they’re gonna listen?’ smirked Alexander as they strolled off along the winding, cobbled street.

‘With Fred and George,’ said Ron, ‘you never know.’

Alexander could faintly hear the jangling of coins, and it was coming distinctly from Harry. Harry steered the three of them to a shop named Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour _,_ which was brightly arrayed with every single colour Alexander could think of. Harry wanted to buy the three of them large scoops of ice cream which Alexander refused at first, but after much insistence on Harry’s part, he acquiesced. He had never seen that many flavours of ice cream in his life and settled for bubblegum.

The four slurped their large dollops of ice cream as they wandered up the alley, examining the shop windows. Alexander and Harry had to drag Ron away from Quality Quidditch Supplies, as the redhead gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Cannon robes for a long period. In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George, and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks.

‘Does your mum know?’ said Alexander and the twins smiled sheepishly.

‘No,’ admitted Fred, ‘and I’d appreciate it, Alexi-boy, if you and your little friends don’t say anything. She’s already banned us from it, and I’d hate for her to find out.’ Fred gave a slight shiver.

‘Our lips are sealed.’

In a tiny junk shop full of broken wands and old cloaks covered with stains, they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small, unexciting book called _Prefects Who Gained Power_. Alexander curled his lips. _Talk about riveting_ , he thought.

‘A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers,’ Ron read aloud off the back cover. ‘Why are you reading that?’

‘Go away,’ snapped Percy.

‘’Course, he’s very ambitious, Percy, he’s got it all planned out,’ muttered Ron in an undertone as they left Percy and exited the shop.

‘Really, Ronald, I hadn’t noticed,’ said Alexander wryly. ‘I must have missed the times he keeps begging to meet my Grandfather.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m just saying,’ said Ron with the roll of his eyes. ‘He wants to be Minister of Magic.’

Alexander checked his watch. ‘Hey, uh, guys, maybe we should start heading back. It's almost time to meet up again.’

They started to head for Flourish and Blotts in a light stroll. The mass thickened as they approached the bookshop, and they saw to their astonishment a mob jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. Alexander’s gaze fell on a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

_GILDEROY LOCKHART_

will be signing copies of his autobiography

_MAGICAL ME_

today 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.

‘We can actually meet him!’ Hermione squealed. ‘I mean, he’s written almost the whole book list!’

Alexander frowned in bewilderment. _What on earth –?_ What was that all about? He had never heard Hermione make that noise in all of the time he’d known her. She appeared giddy as if she has been told that she was now the owner of Flourish and Blotts.

‘Come on, I don’t want to miss the chance,’ she demanded, and grabbed his and Harry’s arms, which were the closest, to pull them inside the throng, with Ron on their tail.

‘Alright,’ muttered Alexander, ‘steady on.’

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs Weasley’s age. A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, pleading, ‘Calmly, _please_ , ladies. Don’t push, there. Mind the books, now.’

The four squeezed inside with mild difficulty. The wizard at the door threw them a weary look, as if he’d lost part of his soul, and waved them in. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. Alexander grabbed a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ , placed it into his basket and sneaked up to the line where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr and Mrs Granger. It wasn’t tricky to notice them – Mrs Weasley’s hair was a beacon around the other craning heads.

‘Oh, there you all are, good,’ said Mrs Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. ‘We’ll be able to see him in a minute.’

Alexander peered curiously ahead, and right then, Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. Alexander grimaced. He couldn’t help but feel that there was something so distastefully sickening about Lockhart’s smile. But perhaps he was being too critical. Besides, he hardly even knew the man. Lockhart could be a brilliant wizard for all Alexander knew, his books certainly proved that. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard’s hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair.

Alexander heard Hermione’s breath hitch and her body tense next to him as Lockhart appeared. He raised an eyebrow at her. Her manner was rather odd in a sense. A short, grouchy-looking man was cavorting around flashing blinding photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke. Alexander waved a hand, as it billowed in his direction.

‘Out of the way, there,’ he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. ‘This is for the Daily Prophet.’

‘Big deal,’ said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it.

Alexander didn’t think Hermione even noticed. Her stare was fixed entirely on Lockhart. He scowled and opened his mouth to say something at the rude photographer but Ron shook his head.

‘Forget about it,’ mumbled Ron. ‘It’s not worth it.’

Gilderoy Lockhart must have heard them. He glanced up. Hermione trembled as Lockhart’s gaze trailed from her, Alexander, and Ron. When it finally rested on Harry, he stopped and stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, ‘It can’t be _Harry Potter_?’

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Harry was like a deer in headlights until Lockhart dived forwards, before Alexander could do anything, and seized Harry’s arm, pulling him to the front. The crowd burst into awed applause. Harry’s faced visibly blazed like a furnace even from where Alexander was standing.

‘He can’t do that!’ he burst outraged at Ron.

‘I know,’ glared Ron at Lockhart’s white gleaming teeth that never waned since he appeared. In fact, it seemed to become larger as he clutched Harry’s hand to shake. The photographer became fervent and was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over them.

‘Do you mind?’ snapped Alexander, widely waving both hands to wade the smoke elsewhere.

‘This is important, boy,’ retorted the photographer, hardly glimpsing in his direction. ‘Go somewhere else if it bothers you.’

Lockhart finally let go and Alexander noticed how his friend flexed his hand in a grimace. Harry tried to sidle back over to them, but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulder and clamped him tightly to his side. Irritation bloomed in Alexander’s chest. Couldn’t Lockhart see that Harry didn’t want this?

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ boomed Lockhart loudly, ‘What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time!’

‘Bloody git,’ spat Ron and Hermione hushed him. Alexander stared at her, incredulous that she could be so indifferent.

Lockhart continued, ‘When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography – which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge.’

The crowd applauded again.

‘How generous of him,’ beamed Hermione, clasping her hands together.

Lockhart’s quickeningly grating voice soared over Alexander’s response, grasping the attention of the crowd.

‘He had no idea,’ declared Lockhart, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, ‘that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me_. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me.’

Alexander's mouth parted in disbelief. _Surely not_. _Please no_. _Don’t say it’s so_.

‘Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!’

The crowd cheered and clapped, and Harry was presented with a hefty stack of books that were shoved into his chest. Ron cursed aloud but was lucky that his mum didn’t hear him, as she was too busy like everyone else, gazing in adoration at the blond wizard. Hermione squealed again, this time much louder and her eyes gleamed.

‘Oh, isn’t this wonderful,’ she said breathlessly, unable to take her eyes off Lockhart, ‘we get to have him as a teacher.’

‘That’s not exactly the kind of sentiment I had in mind,’ muttered Alexander with a mutual disgruntled look at Ron who nodded vigorously.

Harry finally managed to stagger to Mrs Weasley and Ginny, who stood a few yards away from the three. With Harry’s thin arms trembling from under the weight of the books, he proceeded to tip his books into Ginny’s cauldron.

As if Lockhart’s grating voice wasn’t enough, the universe decided to send them another extremely bothersome voice that Alexander had no trouble recognizing. The ferret was wearing his usual ugly sneer as he stood face-to-face with Harry.

‘Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?’

Alexander shared a worried look with Ron and Hermione. ‘This can’t be good,’ he said, then pushed his way through to reach Harry.

‘ _Famous_ Harry Potter,’ snarled Malfoy. ‘Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.’

‘Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!’ Alexander heard Ginny spit angrily. She was glaring at Malfoy, as he approached the cluster.

‘Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend,’ drawled Malfoy. Ginny went scarlet and hid her face behind her hair.

‘Sounds like jealousy to me, ferret,’ smirked Alexander as Malfoy turned to glower at him. ‘What's the matter? Upset that you didn’t get your own photoshoot. Don’t worry, I’m sure daddy-dearest would be happy to do it for you.’

‘Laurent,’ spat Malfoy, ‘Of course you’re still with Potter and the Weasleys.’

Ron looked at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. ‘Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?’

‘Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,’ countered Malfoy. ‘I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.’

Ron bared his teeth and turned as red as Ginny. He ditched his books into the cauldron and lunged towards Malfoy. Alexander, Harry, and Hermione swiftly grabbed the back of his jacket. Alexander could feel the strain of Ron itching to throw a punch. It would be so satisfying to let Ron go but highly troublesome if he did.

‘Ron!’ yelled Mr Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. ‘What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.’

‘Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley.’ It was Mr Malfoy. He still had his cane with him and stood with his other hand on the ferret's shoulder, sneering.

‘Lucius,’ said Mr Weasley, nodding coldly.

Mr Malfoy’s empty eyes settled on him and Alexander jutted his chin up. ‘And young Mr Laurent. I have to say, I’m surprised to see you here with this group.’

He didn’t reply, his body tense for some reason. Mr Malfoy had an odd look in his eyes as he stared at Alexander.

‘Do pass along my sincere greetings to your Grandfather, as I’m sure you will,’ smiled Mr Malfoy in a twisted though almost polite way.

Alexander knew it was all a pretence but gave a curt nod. The last thing he wanted was for Grandfather to receive word of his blatant disrespect to one of his ministry colleagues.

‘So, busy time at the Ministry, I hear,’ said Mr Malfoy towards Mr Weasley. ‘All those raids. I hope they’re paying you overtime?’ He reached into Ginny’s cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old and battered copy of _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_. ‘Obviously not,’ Mr Malfoy said. ‘Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?’

Alexander dug his nails into his palms.

Mr Weasley flushed darker than anyone. ‘We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,’ he growled.

‘Clearly,’ said Mr Malfoy.

He stiffened as Mr Malfoy’s pale eyes strayed to Mr and Mrs Granger, who were watching apprehensively. He didn’t like the leer on Mr Malfoy’s face just then.

‘The company you keep, Weasley. . . and I thought your family could sink no lower —’

Before Alexander could even blink, there was a deafening thud of metal as Ginny’s cauldron went soaring. He could hardly believe what was happening; Mr Weasley had thrown himself at Mr Malfoy, knocking him backwards into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came thundering down on all their heads.

‘Mr Weasley, sir!’ Alexander yelled in shock.

The two men nudged backwards and, knocking into him, nearly unsettled him off his feet. Hermione gave a tiny yelp. There were yells of, ‘Get him, Dad!’ from Fred or George; Mrs Weasley was shrieking, ‘No, Arthur, no!’; the crowd stampeded backwards, knocking more shelves over in their haste to avoid the brawl.

‘Gentlemen, please – please!’ cried the assistant.

It was pandemonium, and when Alexander frantically thought that there was no end to the clash, a booming voice reverberated, louder than all. ‘Break it up, there, gents, break it up.’

Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant, he had pulled the two men apart. Mr Weasley had a cut lip and Mr Malfoy had been hit in the eye.

Mr Malfoy was still holding Ginny’s old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, eyes glittering with malice. ‘Here, girl – take your book – it’s the best your father can give you.’ Pulling himself out of Hagrid’s grip, he beckoned to the ferret and swept from the shop. The ferret smirked back then followed his father like a little sheep.

Alexander glared after the Malfoys, disgust bubbling up inside him. He couldn’t believe his Grandfather is on good terms with a person like Mr Malfoy. How could he stand someone like that?

‘Yeh should’ve ignored him, Arthur,’ admonished Hagrid lightly, almost lifting Mr Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. ‘Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that – no Malfoy’s worth listenin’ ter – bad blood, that’s what it is – come on now – let’s get outta here.’

The shop assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them from leaving, but when Hagrid peered down at him, he seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, Mr Weasley had an angry scowl but Mrs Weasley was beside herself with fury. The Grangers were shaking, pale-faced with fright, and Mr Granger had his arm around his wife for comfort. Alexander hated this. How everything turned sour when the Malfoys came.

‘A fine example to set for your children – brawling in public. What Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve thought?’ raved Mrs Weasley.

‘He was pleased,’ said Fred. ‘Didn’t you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet, if he’d be able to work the fight into his report – said it was all publicity.’

But Mrs Weasley hadn’t heard Fred as she kept ranting on the street. A few people turned their heads in surprise at the loudness of her voice but continued on their way. Fred’s remark about Lockhart caused Alexander to scowl and firmly solidified his opinion: Gilderoy Lockhart might have accomplished all those amazing feats but he was also pompous and obnoxious, which set in stone so immovable a dislike. 

They headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, Alexander, the Weasleys and all their shopping would be travelling back to the Burrow using Floo powder. Hermione mentioned that they’ll meet on the train. Alexander said goodbye to her parents who then announced that they were leaving for the pub opposite the Muggle street.

‘You are,’ burst Mr Weasley eagerly, ‘and – and how does bus stops –’

Unfortunately for Mr Weasley, he never had the chance to find out because the fierce look on Mrs Weasley’s face, which could have made Voldemort shudder, caused Mr Weasley to break off.

Alexander stood watching as Hermione waved goodbye over her shoulder with a bright smile as she disappeared out of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry nudged him and pointed to the Floo Powder. Alexander sighed before helping himself to the powder. This was by far the most _merde_ type of travel.


	5. Skyward

The summer holidays had speedily come to an end. The time to return to Hogwarts was approaching. Mrs Weasley had received a brief letter from Grandfather informing the Weasleys that he would be meeting them and Alexander on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on September first.

During the last evening, Mrs Weasley cooked up a lavish dinner, ending with a tasty treacle pudding, that left Alexander as stuffed as a turkey. Fred and George, when their mother went out of the room, rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from the ceiling to the wall. Alexander burst into laughter at the display, as it almost hit Ron in the nose if he didn’t duck in time. Unfortunately for the twins, Mrs Weasley discovered their purchase and they were favoured with a prompt scolding that left Alexander’s ears buzzing. Before bed, they were treated to warm hot chocolate that reminded him of Eliot in its warm richness.

Next to Hogwarts and spending time with Eliot and Grandfather, the Burrow had become one of his favourite places to be. He loved the cheery, communal atmosphere, the musical laughter, and the unconditional love that everyone in the Weasley family gave each other. It made Alexander ache at the realisation of how much his own quiet life was lacking. That’s not to say that Eliot and Grandfather didn’t love him because that would be absurd. Of course, they did, especially Eliot, who was brimming with positive energy and love. He just wished that his Grandfather spent more time with him. Spoke to him properly as other families did. Yet, Alexander’s daily life in London consisted of the scrapping of cutlery or monotonous rituals of asking how the day went. He knew everything about his Grandfather. His job, his habits, likes and dislikes. And yet Grandfather felt like a stranger to Alexander. This thread of a distance was something he couldn’t close, no matter much he longed to. Sometimes, he imagined conversation and laughter between Grandfather, himself and Eliot during dinner, like the Weasley family. Perhaps there might have been a time – if his parents were alive.

The next morning was a chaotic hurricane of a mess, well, for the Weasleys it seemed. Alexander wasn’t one of the first people to get up at dawn as Mrs Weasley forcibly roused Harry and Ron up with him, though there was much grumbling and hushed angry muttering that came from Ron. For Alexander, who prepared his trunk and belongings the night before, it was amusing to watch everyone else flail about, up and down, and around the house trying to look for their possessions.

‘Where’s my bloody trunk?’ yelled Fred. ‘You took it didn’t you, you wanker?’

‘You watch your language, Fred Weasley,’ shouted an already irate Mrs Weasley from downstairs.

‘I can’t find my wand,’ howled Ron.

Regardless of waking up at dawn, everyone somehow had a great deal to do. Mrs Weasley dashed about in a dreadful mood, muttering under her breath while looking for spare socks and quills. The twins were reprimanded hundreds of times for their prank items that were scattered all over the house; people collided on the stairs, half-dressed, munching on bits of toast in their hands. Alexander was a big help: he found Ron’s wand from under his bed, Harry’s quill on the windowsill, and even Mrs Weasley’s coat.

Mr Weasley almost broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny’s trunk to the car. Alexander stared from the front garden. He couldn’t understand how nine people, seven large trunks, three owls, and a rat was going to fit into one small Ford Anglia. He would have made his trunk smaller but knew that he couldn’t do magic outside of school. He suggested this idea to Mr Weasley instead but apparently, it wasn’t needed due to the special features that Mr Weasley had added.

‘Not a word to Molly,’ he whispered to Harry and Alexander as he opened the trunk and showed them how it had been magically expanded so that the luggage fitted easily. There was no need to make them smaller after all.

Finally, when they were all in the car, Mrs Weasley glanced at the back seat, where the three boys, the twins, and Percy were all sitting comfortably. Alexander had sat next to the window, his favoured seat, and still had room to stretch his legs out front. Harry was next to him.

‘Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don’t they?’ remarked Mrs Weasley, peering curiously at the interior seats and the small light of the car. She and Ginny sat in the front seat, which had been stretched so that it resembled a park bench. ‘I mean, you’d never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?’

Alexander caught Mr Weasley’s eye from the rear-view mirror, who then winked. He quickly stifled his grin before Mrs Weasley could see him.

Mr Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of the yard. Alexander slouched back into the leather seat, staring out of the window, but could hardly sigh when a panicked voice ran out.

‘I’ve forgotten my box of Filibuster!’

‘Oh for Merlin’s sake, George,’ snapped Mrs Weasley, ‘I warned you to make sure you had everything.’

‘We have to go back!’ George grasped the seat in front and leaned forward to stare pleadingly at his father. ‘Please, Dad! I need them!’

Mr Weasley sighed and drove the car back to the Burrow. It all seemed to go downhill from there. Five minutes after George had grabbed his box, they skidded to a halt in the yard so that Fred could run in for his broomstick. Then, by the time they had almost reached the highway, Ginny shrieked that she’d left her diary. Alexander glanced at his watch, bouncing his foot up and down, as Ginny ran inside to grab her diary. They were running very late. Grandfather must already be at the Platform. He gritted his teeth as he watched for a sight of the small redhead to come bursting from the house.

Mrs Weasley glared at the rest of them and in an angry tone hissed, ‘If any of you have left even your wand by now, it can stay there. We’re not going back anymore, do you hear me?’

‘Yes, mum,’ mumbled the rest of the Weasley boys, not daring to look at her. Percy puffed his chest out and pushed his spectacles up his narrow nose to show that he wasn’t the one causing trouble.

Mr Weasley glanced at his wife uncertainly. ‘Molly, dear —’

‘No, Arthur.’ Her tone brooked no argument.

‘No one would see – this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed – that’d get us up in the air then we fly above the clouds. We’d be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser.’

Alexander's ears perked up in interest. Flying? In a car? How many people can say they’ve done that? Unfortunately for him, however, Mrs Weasley was adamant.

‘I said no, Arthur, not in broad daylight.’

He slumped in disappointment. It knew that it was too good to be true.

They reached King’s Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr Weasley dashed across the road to get trolleys for their trunks and they all hurried into the station. Their belongings were fully visible as the Muggles, whom they rushed past, turned around to throw startled looks at the owls on their trolleys. Nobody stopped to ask them about it. It was London after all. People didn’t approach strangers out of the blue like some weirdo. 

‘Right, Percy first,’ instructed Mrs Weasley, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed they had only five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier.

Percy strode briskly forwards and vanished through the wall between the two platforms. Alexander recalled Eliot demonstration last year. Mr Weasley went next; Fred and George followed.

‘Okay, I’ll take Ginny and you three come right after us,’ instructed Mrs Weasley, grabbing Ginny’s hand. ‘Your Grandfather must be on the Platform already, Alexander, so don’t tarry.’

He nodded, running a hand through his hair at how long Grandfather must have been waiting. Grandfather would not be pleased. Mrs Weasley swiftly walked ahead, and in the blink of an eye, she and Ginny were gone.

‘We have to hurry up,’ Alexander urged in a stressed tone.

‘Alright, we have to go together – there’s only two minutes left,’ said Ron.

Alexander ensured Apollo was safely placed on top of his trunk and grasped the handle of his trolley to face the barrier straight on. This was the type of travel he could manage better than the Floo Network. He knew what to expect and it didn’t make him feel dizzy. He looked around to guarantee that no one was paying attention to them.

‘Let’s go,’ declared Harry confidently.

Alexander bent low over the handle and marched purposefully towards the barrier, gathering speed. Harry and Ron was slightly ahead of him as they wouldn’t all fit. A few feet away from it, they broke into a run. His heart rate increased. Any second now he would see the scarlet steam engine and Grandfather’s wizened face on the other side. Nearly there – then CRASH.

Alexander’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped, as he swiftly pulled back and came to a halt. Harry, Ron and their trolleys, when they should have passed safely through the barrier, bounced backwards and were now sprawled on the floor. Alexander, quick to realise, avoided what would have been a painful collision. Harry went head-first onto the floor and Ron, next to him, flailed over Harry’s trunk. Hedwig’s cage jumped onto the shiny floor, and she rolled away, shrieking indignantly. Burning heat rose on Alexander’s cheeks as people all around them stared.

‘What in blazes d’you think you’re doing?’ a guard nearby hollered.

‘Sorry, sir,’ Alexander mustered an awkward smile as Harry and Ron clambered to their feet, groaning in pain. The embarrassment was still visible on his face. ‘It was an accident.’

‘Lost control of the trolley,’ Harry gasped, clutching his ribs.

The guard shook his head and mumbled something about, ‘blooming kids.’ Ron rushed to pick up Hedwig, who was causing such a scene that there was numerous muttering about cruelty to animals from the surrounding crowd. Apollo peered wide-eyed at all the commotion and ruffled his feathers, thankful that it wasn’t him on the floor.

‘What happened?’ demanded Alexander, after the guard had turned away. ‘Why couldn’t we get through?’

‘I dunno,’ answered Ron, staring wildly around.

‘Well, it has to be some sort of malfunction,’ he frowned, walking towards the wall.

‘I don’t think so,’ Ron shook his head. ‘This has never happened before.’

Alexander placed his hand against the brick wall; it was purely solid and rough. Not even slamming his hand several times against it would let even a pinkie through. He paced every inch and corner of the wall, hoping for some indication of why they couldn’t pass. A dozen curious people watched him in the process but he didn’t care at this point. They had bigger issues. They were going to miss the train. _Keep calm_. _Don’t panic_.

‘Should we get our wands out?’ suggested Harry. ‘Maybe we have to tap the bricks, like in Diagon Alley.’

‘We’re going to miss the train,’ Ron whispered. ‘I don’t understand why the gateway’s sealed itself.’

Alexander stepped back and took out his wand. Desperate times called for desperate measures. This most assuredly counted as an emergency for them to do underage magic.

‘What are you doing?’ Ron stared at him.

‘Doing what Harry said to do. It’s worth a try at least.’

Alexander very briefly remembered the pattern of the bricks and attempted to replicate it. Yet, when he tried to put his hand through the wall, again, it remained. He glimpsed at his watch with a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. Dread crept up his chest. Ten seconds . . . nine seconds. He looked desperately at the other two, whose panicked faces resembled his.

Harry wheeled his trolley forwards cautiously until it was right against the barrier and pushed, shoes scraping against the concrete floor. But it was fruitless. The brick wall remained impassive. Alexander huffed angrily and clenched his jaw. Two seconds . . . one second. _No_. His heart sank, though he knew it was inevitable.

‘It’s gone,’ murmured Ron, sounding stunned. ‘The train’s left. What if Mum and Dad can’t get back through to us?’ 

Alexander chewed on his lip. That meant Grandfather couldn’t get through to him. He hadn’t even realised that until now.

‘What are we supposed to do?’ he frowned, thoughts racing of all the possibilities. They couldn’t Apparate yet, nor did they have any Floo powder. But even if they did, what fireplace were they supposed to come out of that would get them to Hogwarts? ‘That was our only way to go to Hogwarts.’

‘Has any of you got Muggle money?’ Ron asked him and Harry.

Harry gave a hollow laugh. ‘The Dursleys haven’t given me pocket money for about six years.’

‘What about you, Alex? Your grandfather must have given you some money before.’

Alexander ran his hand through his hair in frustration. ‘I don’t. I’ve only got wizard money and a fat load of good that’s going to do. It’s not like Barclays is going to exchange them into Muggle coins, are they?’

A bitter feeling arose in his chest and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself. Why didn’t he take some Pound notes with him? Even a fiver at this rate would have been better than nothing.

Harry rubbed a hand over his temple. ‘Looks like we’re stuck here,’ he stated wearily.

‘Way to state the obvious,’ Alexander grumbled in a low undertone.

Ron pressed his ear to the cold barrier. ‘Can’t hear a thing,’ he said tensely. ‘What’re we going to do? I don’t know how long it’ll take Mum and Dad or Alex’s grandfather to get back to us.’

People were still watching them, mainly because of Hedwig’s continued screeches. Alexander wished she would be quiet so the faint pounding in his head would stop and he’d be able to hear himself think clearer.

‘We can’t be the only students to ever miss the train,’ remarked Alexander incredulously. ‘There have to be others, right?’

‘I-I’m not completely sure,’ replied Ron with a worried frown, ‘Dad’s never said anything about a student missing the train. I know that much.’

‘Well, whatever,’ he sighed, ‘we have to do something. We can’t just wait here like sitting ducks.’

‘I think we’d better go and wait by the car,’ proposed Harry.

Alexander paused for a second. _That’s actually a good idea_ , he thought. Waiting by the car essentially meant that they wouldn’t be attracting any more attention. Mr and Mrs Weasley would meet and help them there.

‘The car!’ burst Ron loudly, his eyes gleaming.

Harry furrowed his brow. ‘What about it? Are we waiting there, then?’

‘We can take the car to Hogwarts.’

‘Ronald, don’t be so ridiculous,’ Alexander snapped, patience worn thin by the amount of stress they were under. ‘How are we going to drive the car to Hogwarts. It’s in Scotland in case you haven’t noticed.’

‘No, no, not drive, _fly_ ,’ argued Ron. ‘It’ll be much quicker.’ He broadly grinned at Alexander and Harry in a manic way.

‘But I thought —’ began a confused Harry before Ron ploughed on.

‘We’re stuck, right? And we’ve got to get to school, haven’t we? And even underage wizards are allowed to use magic if it’s a real emergency, section nineteen or something of the Restriction of Thingy.’

‘It’s the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Wizardry,’ Alexander corrected, then shook his head, ‘but anyway, I don’t think this is right – we’re going to get into so much trouble.’ Yet, his voice was weak, and he could feel himself relenting. Ron was right in some respects. It _was_ quicker. And it was better than doing nothing. Surely this did count as an emergency.

‘But it’s not our fault,’ contended Harry, ‘we didn’t do anything to the wall.’ Harry pushed against the barrier again in the vain hope that it would give way. ‘How will your mum and dad get home?’ he asked curiously to Ron.

‘They don’t need the car!’ answered Ron impatiently. ‘They know how to Apparate! You know, just vanish and reappear at home! They only bother with Floo powder and the car because we’re all underage and we’re not allowed to Apparate yet.’

‘Wouldn’t it be better if we just waited here,’ recommended Alexander, in a last desperate attempt. ‘Your parents are probably looking for us.’

‘For how long, though? Who knows when mum and dad will come for us. Or your grandfather even.’

Alexander chewed on his lip, a battle waging in his head. On the one hand, they were going to get into so much trouble. This was reckless and stupid. But a larger part of him was curious to travel in a flying car. It sounded so _cool_. Technically it wasn’t their fault and Grandfather should be able to understand that. Scotland didn’t seem too far now that he properly thought about it.

Harry voiced an eager question, ‘Can you fly it?’

‘No problem,’ said Ron, wheeling his trolley around to face the exit. ‘If we hurry, we’ll be able to follow the Hogwarts Express.’ Ron and Harry turned to glance expectantly at him. ‘C’mon, Alex. It’s better than staying here.’

With one last anxious glimpse at the brick wall and back at the encouraging faces of his friends, Alexander sighed but could feel fizzles of anticipation pop up in his stomach. ‘Alright, fine,’ he said, throwing his hands up, and Ron and Harry grinned. ‘But there’s something I need to do. Let’s get out of here first.’

They marched off through the crowd of nosy Muggles, out of the station and back onto the side road where the old Ford Anglia was parked. Ron unlocked the boot of the car with a series of taps from his wand. They heaved their luggage inside then placed Hedwig on the back seat.

Harry glanced weirdly at Alexander. ‘Aren’t you going to put Apollo as well?’ he queried.

Alexander shook his head as he opened his trunk and took out a parchment and a Muggle pen, as it was quicker than taking out ink and a quill. ‘No, hang on. I need to do something first.’

Harry and Ron shrugged then went to sit in the front seats while waiting for him. Alexander leaned the parchment on the back of the car as he scratched a roughly neat message:

Dear Grandfather,

The Platform entrance was closed and Harry, Ron, and I couldn’t go through for some reason. We tried everything but the wall was solid. We’re going to take the Weasleys’ car as there was nothing else to do. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.

Alexander.

He then proceeded to fold the letter in half and opened the cage of Apollo’s. Apollo hopped out and stared at him in expectation.

‘Hey, boy,’ he whispered, ‘take this to Grandfather – then come fly to Hogwarts where I’ll be, okay?’

He stroked Apollo’s head who nipped his finger gently to indicate that he understood and spread his wings to launch himself into the bright, blue sky. As soon as Apollo left, he closed his trunk and placed them and the owl cage into the boot of the car.

‘Let’s go,’ he instructed as he closed the car door of the back seats.

‘Right, check that no one’s watching,’ ordered Ron, starting the ignition with another tap of his wand.

Alexander peered out of the back window: Traffic was rumbling along the main road ahead, but their street was empty.

‘Okay,’ nodded Harry, head coming back inside the car from out the window. ‘Clear.’

‘Uh, Ron, I have to warn you that flying Muggle cars aren’t exactly the norm,’ cautioned Alexander, checking to confirm that no onlookers were walking past.

‘Oh, um, right,’ gulped Ron nervously.

Alexander watched in curiosity from the back as Ron pressed a tiny silver button on the dashboard. The car rumbled around them and he imagined the car and themselves to have vanished. The seat beneath his fingers vibrated; the engine thrummed audibly. He glanced down at his body. It was still there but, he had in all likelihood disappeared.

‘Let’s go,’ he insisted after taking a deep breath. ‘We need to catch up to the train – we’ve wasted enough time already.’

Ron nodded then started the car. Alexander felt his stomach drop like he was plummeting down a tiny roller-coaster, as the car rose. He peered out, nose pressed against the cold window; the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell away, dropping out of sight, and in seconds, the whole of London lay, smoky and glittering, below them. The buildings and people quickly became like ants scurrying away. This was much different from a plane ride.

Suddenly, a popping noise jolted his attention back. ‘What was that?’ he exclaimed. The car and the three boys quickly reappeared again.

‘Uh-oh,’ stammered Ron, jabbing at the Invisibility Booster. ‘It’s faulty.’ The car vanished. Then it flickered back again.

Alexander leaned forwards from his seat. ‘Wait, let me try as well.’

But though he, Ron, and Harry pummelled the silver button, the car would not become invisible any longer.

‘ _Merde Alors_!’ he snarled slamming a hand against it, ‘It’s not working!’

‘Hold on!’ Ron cried, and he slammed his foot on the accelerator; they shot straight into the low, woolly clouds and everything turned dull and foggy. The drive was bumpy and rough and they often rocked back and forth.

‘I thought you said you knew how to drive this thing, Ron,’ said Alexander in an exasperated tone.

Ron was pale and he gripped the steering wheel so tightly. ‘W-well, I’ve seen dad drive it usually. Not the flying thing but it’s sort of the same thing.’

Alexander sharply inhaled. _That’s great_. They would have almost died and still could. The car rocked sideways, and after a sudden turn that threw him to the other side door rather forcibly, Alexander couldn’t take it anymore.

‘Right, Ron, _move_.’ His tone was stubborn.

‘What?’ came Ron’s incredulous voice. ‘ _Now_?’ 

‘Well, I don’t fancy you driving us to our deaths anytime soon, so move.’

Ron opened his mouth to argue but after an abrupt fall of the car, which caused them to yelp, he nodded reluctantly. ‘Yeah, alright. Just be careful not to damage it – dad’ll kill me otherwise.’ 

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be as gentle as a feather,’ he muttered.

It was quite a struggle to change positions but they got there in the end, as he raised his legs into the driver’s seat. Harry had to quickly grab hold of the steering wheel to stop them from plunging. When Alexander finally settled, he grabbed hold of the wheel and gently raised the car into a straight position. Thank Merlin for Eliot’s obsession with cars.

‘Now what?’ said Harry, blinking at the solid mass of cloud pressing in on them from all sides.

‘We need to see the train to know what direction to go in,’ announced Ron. ‘Alex, dip back down slowly for a minute, so we can get a better look.’

Alexander slowly removed his foot off the accelerator, though not entirely, and they dropped back beneath the clouds. Ron and Harry twisted around in their seats, squinting at the ground.

‘Anything?’ asked Alexander.

‘I can see it!’ Harry yelled. ‘Right ahead – there!’

Approaching closer, the Hogwarts Express appeared magnificent and like a beacon. It was streaking along like a scarlet snake.

‘Alex, make sure to check the compass every half hour or so,’ instructed Ron.

Alexander glimpsed down at the letters on the compass that was attached to the dashboard. The tiny red line was pointing to the letter N.

‘It’s due north,’ he said. ‘Okay, hold on for a second.’

He pressed down on the accelerator and turned the steering wheel. They shot up through the clouds; a minute later, they burst out into a blaze of sunlight. After the uncertainty and uncomfortable car journey, it was quite a different world. They skimmed along oceans of fluffy clouds, the sky vivid under the dazzling sun.

‘All we’ve got to worry about now are aeroplanes,’ grinned Ron, leaning an elbow on Harry’s seat as he leaned forwards so they could see his freckled face.

‘And birds. Don’t forget the birds that might shit on the car,’ smirked Alexander.

They all burst into laughter. It was carefree and joyful and a welcome sound after the previous stress. He felt like a balloon, weightless and free.

‘Sit back and enjoy the journey, boys,’ he smiled breezily, resting back comfortably in the seat.

This was fairly easy now. All he had to do was follow the train back to Hogwarts and they’d be there in a few hours. The view wasn’t so bad either; they passed swirls of snowy clouds which resembled the blowing steam of the scarlet train ahead.

Harry opened a fat pack of toffees in the glove compartment and shared them with Ron. He offered some to Alexander who declined because he didn’t want his hands to become sticky on the steering wheel. The three boys went into mindless chatter while making regular checks on the train as they flew farther north. London was far behind them, replaced by elegant green fields that became wide moors.

Of course, their happy rest gradually faded like the mist of a breath on a mirror. After a while, they began to realise how uncomfortable they felt. Despite not eating any toffees, Alexander was very thirsty, his mouth as parched as a desert. They had nothing to drink, and the boiling sun was more of a hindrance. Alexander kept wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his brow. He shifted in his seat and sensed how hot and sweaty he was. Harry and Ron had pulled off their sweaters, while he removed his jacket. His thin button-up shirt was sticking to his body, particularly on the back. He would kill for some ice-cold pumpkin juice right now. Why did the barrier have to be closed?

‘Can’t be much further, can it?’ croaked Ron, as the sun started to sink, staining a deep pink against the sky.

‘I don’t know, do I?’ snapped Alexander, ‘I’m only following the train.’ It was still below them, winding its way past a snow-capped mountain.

‘Alright, no need to bite my head off – I was just asking,’ grumbled Ron.

Alexander sighed. He just wanted to be at Hogwarts already. His foot was starting to ache from holding the accelerator for such a long period and the faint headache that he thought had vanished emerged abruptly. What he would do to lie down on his soft four-poster bed. His head swan simply thinking about it. He put his foot down to steer the car upward again, but as he did so, the engine began to whine. A disturbing reverberation instantly jolted the three boys from their hazy, tired-infused behaviour. They all exchanged nervous glances.

‘Uh, Ron, is the car supposed to do that?’ asked Alexander nervously. He placed his hand on the dashboard: the vibrations were faint and it was merely a matter of time before it stopped completely.

‘It’s probably just tired,’ reassured Ron, though his voice was rather shaky, ‘It’s never been this far before.’

‘I hope your right for once,’ grumbled Alexander, ‘or we’re fucked.’

To their dismay, the whining was growing louder each minute. _Nearly there_. Just ignore it, he muttered under his breath. The sky steadily became darker, and stars were blossoming in the blackness. Alexander had to squint to see the dark outline of the train, as it seemed that the scarlet shade was cloaked under the silver moonbeams. A sharp gust blew through his shirt and he shivered. He zipped his jacket back on, striving to ignore the way the windshield wipers were now waving feebly, as though in protest.

‘It’s not that far,’ murmured Ron, ‘not far at all.’

Alexander nodded mindlessly, just waiting to see the vast turrets and towers of the majestic castle. When they flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, they had to peek for a landmark they knew.

‘There!’ shouted Harry, jerking Alexander, Ron, and Hedwig.

‘ _Merde_ , Harry, you scared the life out of us,’ Alexander groused but leaned forwards to see where Harry was pointing.

Harry ignored his statement. ‘Straight ahead!’

Silhouetted on the dark horizon, high on the cliff over the lake, stood the anticipated Hogwarts castle. Alexander gave a tiny cry of relief. They made it. _Almost there_. _Come on_. He pressed his foot down harder but the car had begun to shudder and was losing speed. The grin quickly evaporated from his face, turning into wide-eyed panic as he became aware of his loss of control.

‘No, no, no,’ Alexander gulped, giving the steering wheel a little shake, ‘don’t fucking do this to us. Not now – we’re nearly there, come on.’

But the engine groaned in protest. He gritted his teeth as he spotted jets of steam that were emanating from under the hood. He pressed hard on the accelerator, and the car gave a nasty wobble. Harry had one hand clutching the handle above and the other gripping the edge of his seat. The car was beyond Alexander’s control as they flew towards the lake. Turning the steering wheel was essentially ineffective and the car barely advanced when he pressed down.

‘Come on, Alex, we’re nearly there,’ came Ron’s panicked voice.

‘I’m trying!’ he yelled.

‘Well, try harder,’ said Ron, clasping onto the back of Harry’s seat. His knuckles were white from clenching hard.

Before Alexander could lash out at Ron, a violent wobble of the car caused his heart to leap to his throat. Only his foot on the accelerator was preventing them from plunging under the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water, a mile below. They had to make it. _Come on._ _Come on_. _Come on_. They were finally over the lake – the castle was right ahead. He took a deep breath and urged the car to speed on. There was a loud clunk, a splutter, and the engine died completely. Terror gripped his heart. Pressing down was wholly useless.

‘Hold on!’ he shouted.

The bonnet of the car steeped downwards. They were tumbling, gathering speed, heading straight for the solid castle wall. The only thing left to do was to avoid being hit. Alexander swung around and just in time, too, because they missed the dark stone wall by several inches. The car veered in an arc and soared over black lawns, rapidly losing altitude.

‘Arghhhh!’ Ron yelled fearfully. ‘STOP! STOP!’ He had his wand out and was hitting the side of the car with it as if the car would listen to him.

‘Brace yourselves,’ Alexander bellowed, whacking the dashboard, but they were still plummeting, the ground nearing towards them. He peered out of his side window. The blades of grass appeared more like daggers from this view. The ground looked awfully solid but hopefully, the car will cushion most of their fall.

‘Watch out for that tree!’ roared Harry.

Alexander paled considerably. He knew about that tree as he’d read about it last year. It was the Whomping Willow. He quickly spun the wheel round and the car avoided a collision. But before the boys could celebrate, the long branches of the tree stretched out to trap the Ford Anglia and brought them back, like a stretched elastic band.

‘Drive!’ exclaimed Ron’s terrified voice.

‘I – am – trying – to!’ said Alexander through clenched teeth.

He gave a loud cry and slammed his foot down as far as the accelerator could go. The car whined the noisiest and longest yet as the wheels spun around and around, trying to get away. But the tree was too strong. It pulled them backwards then – CRUNCH. With an ear-splitting bang of metal on wood, they hit the thick tree trunk. The tree let go of the car and they dropped to the ground. Ron was shrieking; Harry was gripping on for dear life; Alexander was twisting the steering wheel but it was all in vain.

They hit the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was billowing from under the crumpled hood; Hedwig was screeching in alarm. There was a ringing in his ears. Harry’s mouth was moving as he glanced worriedly at Alexander, but there was no sound. For one heart-stopping moment, Alexander thought he had lost his hearing. But then the whining of the engine, Harry’s voice, and Ron’s low, despairing groan burst into focus like a heavy surge of colour.

‘Are you okay?’ said Harry urgently.

Alexander moaned and held a hand to his head. The throbbing of his head was back vigorously. Thankfully, there was no blood.

‘Never better,’ he groaned back. He stared into the rear-view mirror. ‘Ron, are you okay?’

‘My wand,’ said Ron, in a shaky voice. ‘Look at my wand.’ He leaned forwards to show the other two boys in the middle of their two seats. Ron’s wand was a pitiful sight: it had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters.

Alexander winced. ‘Sellotape maybe,’ he suggested weakly.

Before Ron could reply, at that very moment, something hit his side of the car with the force of a charging bull. Alexander stared around widely, trying to pinpoint what was attacking them. Another hit sent Harry lurching sideways into him. He grasped Harry’s arms and placed him back into his seat.

‘What’s happen — ?’ Ron gasped, staring straight ahead.

Alexander was just in time to spot a branch, as thick as a python, smash into their front window. The fury of the tree was back with a vehement fervour.

‘DUCK!’ he yelled, and the three boys crouched low in their seat.

The branch smashed through the front window, shattering glass shards all around their feet and bodies. The twisted limb of the tree retreated and its gnarled boughs were pummelling every inch of the car it could reach; a branch as thick as a battering ram was pounding furiously on the roof, which seemed to be caving.

‘What do we do?’ shouted Alexander, evading a hail of blows from knuckle-like twigs against his door. ‘I can’t move this car.’

‘We’re done for!’ moaned Ron as the roof sagged.

Suddenly the floor of the car was vibrating — the engine had restarted. Alexander quickly jerked into action. He shifted the gear, clutched one hand on the wheel, and the other on the back of Harry’s chair, and reversed. The car shot backwards; the tree was still trying to hit them; they could hear its roots creaking as it almost ripped itself out, lashing out at them as they sped out of reach.

‘That,’ panted Ron, slumping back against his seat, ‘was close.’

Alexander exhaled deeply. ‘I can’t believe we flew all that distance for this shit. Next time we’re using the Floo.’

‘I’ll say,’ wheezed Harry. 

The car unexpectedly came to a halt. He peered down at the dashboard. What the –? With two sharp clunks, all four doors flew open and Alexander felt his seat tip sideways. He didn’t have time to grasp onto the handle as he sprawled onto the damp ground. The moisture of the grass coated his face as he fell head-first. Ron and Harry gave loud yelps, indicating that he wasn’t alone in this. There was a loud thud. Hedwig and Apollo’s cages flew through the air and burst open. Hedwig exited with an angry screech and sped off toward the without a backwards look. He couldn’t blame her as he himself felt irritated after that journey. The dented and scratched car rumbled off into the darkness, its rear lights blazing indignantly.

‘Come back!’ Ron yelled after it, brandishing his broken wand.

But the car disappeared from view with one last snort from its exhaust.

‘Leave it, Ron,’ said Alexander, ‘it’s a lost cause.’ He walked over to close Apollo’s cage and pick up his trunk.

‘Can you believe our luck?’ replied Ron miserably, bending down to pick up Scabbers. ‘Of all the trees we could’ve hit, we had to get one that hits back.’

‘Luck has never been on our side,’ Alexander muttered bitterly, ‘I thought you must have realised that by now.’

‘Come on,’ said Harry in a weary tone, ‘we’d better get up to the school.’

Alexander waved his wand over his, Harry’s, and Ron’s trunks to make them lighter to carry. Ron and Harry stared.

‘I thought we couldn’t do underage magic?’ demanded Ron.

‘We’re in Hogwarts, Ronald,’ he snapped, the cold seeping into his body and he shivered violently.

Ron appeared sheepish. ‘Oh, right, forgot about that.’

Stiff, chilly, and bruised, they each seized their trunks and began to carry them up the grassy slope, towards the oak front doors. The nearest window was brightly lit with the sounds of happy chatter emitting from them.

‘Looks like we’re late,’ Alexander pointed out with a frown.

‘Yeah, the feast’s already started,’ agreed Ron, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window.

Alexander looked curiously at Ron’s actions.

‘Hey – Harry, Alex – come and look – it’s the Sorting!’

Harry and Alexander exchanged looks for a brief second before hurrying over. Alexander cupped his hands against the window to peer into the Great Hall. It was just as he remembered it to be. Countless candles hovered in midair over four long tables. A line of frightened-looking first years filed into the Hall. Ginny was easily visible because of her vibrant Weasley hair.

Professor McGonagall, just as stern, placed the patched Hogwarts Sorting Hat on a stool before the newcomers. A tiny, mousy-haired boy had been called forward to place the hat on his head. Alexander remembered putting it on and waiting for its decision as it muttered aloud in his ear. He gained valuable information from that hat, as he learnt that his mother had been a Ravenclaw.

Alexander’s blue eyes wandered to the rows of the tables. Nia was sat on the Hufflepuff table with her signature rings reflected as she leaned on her elbow. Her expression was bored and glazed over. Helen – his stomach lurched – was different in her manner. Her posture was straight, her blonde hair glowed and her uniform immaculate. He then trailed to the Gryffindor table. Hermione’s bushy hair was visible among the forest of pointed hats. She was sitting next to Neville and though she was paying attention, the crease of her brow signified to Alexander her worry. His lips quirked up into an involuntary smile. 

‘Hang on.’ Harry’s mutter broke Alexander gaze from Hermione. ‘There’s an empty chair at the staff table. Where’s Snape?’

‘Maybe he’s ill!’ proposed Ron hopefully.

‘I’ve never seen Snape ill in all our time at Hogwarts,’ snorted Alexander then suggested, ‘Maybe he’s left because he missed out on the Defence Against the Dark Arts job again!’

‘Possibly,’ thoughtfully frowned Harry. ‘Everyone knows it’s the Dark Arts he’s interested in.’

‘Or he might have been sacked!’ said Ron enthusiastically. ‘I mean, everyone hates him —’ 

A cold voice rang out from behind them. Alexander closed his eyes in horror as he recognised the person to whom it belonged to. Their day kept on getting better and better.

‘Or maybe he’s waiting to hear why you three didn’t arrive on the school train.’

Opening his eyes, Alexander slowly turned around to meet Snape’s glare. The thin man stood there, like a death omen, with his shoulder-length greasy hair and his black robes, which rippled in the breeze. He was smiling in a way that signified the looming punishment they were facing. A gloating Snape never signified something good.

‘Follow me,’ ordered Snape.

Swallowing heavily, Alexander followed after the Potions Master with Harry and Ron at his side. In a way, this was inevitable. He knew they were going to be in trouble but still couldn’t help the heavy feeling in his stomach. Snape led them up the steps into the vast, echoing entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches. A delicious smell wafted from the Great Hall, but Snape steered them down a narrow stone staircase that led into the dungeons. A block of lead settled inside him.

‘In!’ said Snape, opening a door and pointing.

They entered Snape’s office, without looking at each other. A shiver crept up Alexander’s spine and he doubted it was due to the shelves of strange ingredients in jars. The fireplace was dark and empty.

Snape closed the door and turned to look at them. ‘So,’ he said softly, ‘what do I find but Potter, Laurent, and Weasley. The train isn’t good enough for you boys, is it? Wanted to arrive with a bang, did we?’

Harry hastened to argue, a splotch of red rising on his cheeks. ‘No, sir, it was the barrier at King’s Cross, it —’ 

‘Silence!’ spat Snape icily. ‘What have you done with the car?’

For the first time since seeing Snape, Alexander’s gaze rose from the polished floor of the dungeon’s classroom. How did Snape know that they came in a car? He couldn’t have seen them fly into the castle, right?

Snape unrolled a copy of the Evening Prophet. ‘You were seen,’ he hissed, each word a knife to Alexander’s chest, and showed them the front-page headline: FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES.

Alexander sharply inhaled. This was all sorts of bad. They’d broken one of the cardinal rules of the wizarding world. The probability of them being expelled was enormous.

Snape began to read aloud: ‘Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower at noon.’ Snape smiled nastily as his stare fell on Ron. ‘I believe your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office? Dear, dear . . . his own son .’

Alexander’s nails dug into his palms. He hadn’t even thought about what would happen if anyone found out Mr Weasley had bewitched the car. The Weasleys had been so wonderful and welcoming to him and this is how he repaid them. The sick feeling grew stronger.

‘And you, Laurent,’ Snape turned to him, ‘how disappointing you must be to your Grandfather. Who could measure the amount of shame that his grandson brought upon him? Fortunately for you, though, Laurent, your Grandfather was smart enough to dismiss an inquiry as he wasn’t involved in the bewitching.’

He could feel Harry’s gaze on the side of his face but Alexander’s stare was fixed on the floor.

‘I noticed, in my search of the park, that considerable damage seems to have been done to a very valuable Whomping Willow,’ Snape went on.

Ron was indignant. ‘That tree did more damage to us than we —’

Alexander was quick to nudge him to be quiet but it was too late.

‘Silence!’ snapped Snape again. ‘Most unfortunately, you are not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who do have that happy power. You will wait here.’

None of them talked; Harry and Ron were white-faced in the fear of what would happen. Alexander ran a hand through his hair, his belly churning. This was it. They were going to be expelled. There was no way they were getting off for something as huge as this. Their incident was already raised in the newspaper and the Ministry. He’d never do magic again. He’d never see any of his friends again; Neville, nor Nia or Helen. He wouldn’t see Hermione either. The lead grew heavier, and he bit the inside of his cheeks to avert the glistening tears that threatened to rise.

Ten minutes later, Snape returned accompanied by Professor McGonagall, whose lips were pursed as tight as Alexander had ever seen. His heart sank. She raised her wand and pointed it at the empty fireplace, where flames suddenly erupted.

‘Sit,’ she ordered, and Alexander sensed his legs backing into a chair by the fire before he could realise. ‘Explain,’ she said, her glasses glinting ominously.

Ron immediately launched into the story, starting with the barrier at the station refusing to let them through. ‘— so we had no choice, Professor, we couldn’t get on the train.’

‘Why didn’t you send a letter by owl? I believe the two of you have an owl?’ Professor McGonagall asked coldly to Harry and Alexander.

Harry gaped at her. But Alexander found his voice for once. ‘I did,’ his tone was unwavering, ‘I sent my owl to my Grandfather explaining the situation.’

‘Yes, well, that is something at least,’ frowned Professor McGonagall, ‘but unfortunately, this does not excuse you, Laurent. You were also in the car. You should have known better and waited for an adult to come to you instead.’

There was a knock on the office door and Snape, gleefully smirking, opened it. Professor Dumbledore came looking unusually grave. He stared down his crooked nose at them. There was a long silence. Alexander wished one of them would just shout at them so he could know what their punishment was in the end and have time to say goodbye to his friends. How could he ever face Grandfather again? This tense silence was putting him on edge.

Dumbledore’s disappointed voice finally spoke. ‘Please explain why you did this.’

This time, Harry narrated the story though he wouldn’t glance up from his knees, as if deliberately avoiding Dumbledore’s gaze. Alexander, however, stared straight at Dumbledore’s sombre features, which frowned now and then when Harry spoke. When Harry had finished, Dumbledore merely continued to peer at them through his spectacles.

‘Are you going to give us time to say goodbye?’ Alexander voiced bravely, clenching his jaw slightly.

‘We’ll go and get our stuff,’ supported Ron in a hopeless sort of voice.

‘What are you talking about, Weasley, Laurent?’ barked Professor McGonagall.

‘Well, you’re expelling us, aren’t you?’ inquired Ron.

‘Not today, Mr Weasley,’ said Dumbledore. ‘But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to your families tonight, though I’m sure Antoine already knows, Mr Laurent.’ He levelled a glance at Alexander who nodded. ‘I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you.’

He could hardly believe what he had heard. So they weren’t expelled? They were allowed to continue at Hogwarts. It was as if he’d broken out of the surface of the water after being submerged for a long time. He inhaled deeply and the weight vanished from his body. Snape, however, looked as though Christmas had been cancelled.

Snape cleared his throat and argued, ‘Professor Dumbledore, these boys have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree – surely acts of this nature —’ 

Alexander had never hated Snape as much as he did then. He swallowed harshly. _Damn the greasy bastard and his vendetta_. _He just can’t let it go_.

‘It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on these boys’ punishments, Severus,’ interrupted Dumbledore calmly. ‘They are in her House and are therefore her responsibility.’ He turned to Professor McGonagall. ‘I must go back to the feast, Minerva, I’ve got to give out a few notices. Come, Severus, there’s a delicious-looking custard tart I want to sample.’

Alexander threw a tiny smirk at Snape, who proceeded to shoot a look of pure venom at him as he allowed himself to be swept out of his office. _Not today_.

Professor McGonagall was still eyeing them like a wrathful eagle. ‘You’d all better get to the Hospital Wing. Look, Weasley, you’re bleeding.’

‘Not much,’ said Ron, hastily wiping the cut over his eye with his sleeve. ‘Professor, I wanted to watch my sister being Sorted.’

‘The Sorting Ceremony is over,’ informed Professor McGonagall in a flat tone. ‘Your sister is also in Gryffindor.’

Ron slumped in surprise. ‘Oh, good.’

‘And speaking of Gryffindor,’ Professor McGonagall said sharply.

Alexander grimaced. _Here we go_. She was going to take points off them already.

Yet, Harry cut in: ‘Professor, when we took the car, the term hadn’t started, so – so Gryffindor shouldn’t really have points taken from it, should it?’ he finished, watching her anxiously.

Alexander admired his friend’s courage, especially at a time like this. He couldn’t help peering up hopefully at her, waiting for her verdict.

Professor McGonagall gave a piercing look. ‘I will not take any points from Gryffindor,’ she settled, ‘but you will all get a detention.’

He could have sung in relief. His heart was much lighter. He couldn’t believe their luck. They broke so many rules and all they received was a mere detention. Not that he was complaining. The rumble of his stomach caught his attention.

‘Professor,’ he appealed, ‘what about the feast?’

Professor McGonagall raised her wand again and pointed it at Snape’s desk. A large plate of sandwiches, two silver goblets, and a jug of iced pumpkin juice appeared with a pop. ‘You will eat in here and then go straight up to your dormitory,’ she ordered. ‘I must also return to the feast.’

When the door had closed behind her, Ron let out a long, low whistle. ‘I thought we’d had it,’ he said.

‘Same,’ Alexander sighed, picking up a sandwich. ‘Can’t believe we’re only eating sandwiches though. All that food in the Great Hall and this is what we get.’ He took a bite; it was chicken.

‘Be thankful we got anything,’ chewed Harry.

‘What was that you said earlier, Alex, about luck never being on our side?’ grinned Ron.

Alexander rolled his eyes as he gulped down his pumpkin juice. ‘Yeah, yeah, alright, I was wrong, okay.’

Ron swallowed and took another huge bite. ‘Why couldn’t we get through the barrier?’

It was the one thought that had been bugging Alexander for all this time. It worked for all the other students before they came. And Ron said the barrier stayed open long after the train would leave. So why didn’t it for them?

Harry shrugged. ‘We’ll have to watch our step from now on, though,’ he said, taking a grateful swig of pumpkin juice.

Alexander swallowed hastily as he recalled something, something that hadn’t occurred to him before because of the whirlwind stress and panic. ‘Harry, remember when you told us that – that a, uh, house-elf stopped your letters?’ he began slowly.

Judging by his face that froze, Harry could sense what Alexander was trying to get at. ‘Do you mean?’ he replied hoarsely, ‘that – that Dobby was behind it.’

Ron frowned confusedly. ‘What? The house-elf? What about him.’

‘I think Dobby might have been the one behind the barrier, right?’ Harry stared at Alexander.

Alexander shook his head. ‘I-I don’t know. It’s just a guess. I mean don’t you think it’s a bit odd that this house-elf was stopping all your letters, Harry, and warning you to not go to Hogwarts. Then all of a sudden you can’t get through the barrier. Seems a bit shady to me.’

Ron chewed thoughtfully. ‘It’s possible, but house-elfs can’t go against their family wishes and you said Dobby had a master, Harry.’

Harry nodded. ‘Yeah, Dobby told me he did.’

‘Let’s worry about this later,’ said Alexander, ‘I’m just grateful to be here.’

When they had eaten as many sandwiches as they could, they left the office, treading the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower. The castle was eerily quiet; it seemed that the feast was over. At last, they reached the oil painting of the fat lady in a pink silk dress.

‘Password?’ she demanded as they approached.

Alexander paused, stumped. How were they supposed to know that? He glanced around for any sight of a Gryffindor Prefect but come out empty-handed.

‘Er —’ said Harry intelligibly.

A hurrying of feet came behind them. Hermione was dashing toward them. Alexander grinned widely as he saw her, yet Hermione appeared less than pleased.

‘There you are!’ she burst, ‘where have you been? I’ve just heard the most ridiculous rumours – someone said you’d been expelled for crashing a flying car.’

‘I mean as far as rumours go, it’s half right,’ said Alexander, shoving his hands inside his pocket jeans.

‘You’re not telling me you did fly here?’ replied Hermione, almost as severe as Professor McGonagall.

He shrugged. ‘Take it as you please. But if you must know, it wasn’t our fault, really.’

Hermione puffed up to scold them. ‘Alexander, that was very reckless of you all and —’

‘Skip the lecture,’ interjected Ron impatiently, ‘and tell us the new password.’

‘It’s “wattlebird,”’ answered Hermione irritably, ‘but that’s not the point —’ 

Alexander snorted as the portrait of the fat lady swung open. Harry and Ron hastened inside where there was a faint storm of clapping. After everything, he was now in a good mood and found everything humorous, including Hermione’s posture. She had her arms crossed and was scowling at him seriously like a tiny mother.

‘What!’ she snapped with a huff. ‘I fail to see what’s so funny about this, Alexander.’

Hermione might as well have stomped her foot as well with the way she looked. He chucked and beckoned her inside. ‘Come on, let get inside before Professor McGonagall hears the clapping.’

That seemed to have done the trick. They scrambled inside and it looked as though the whole of Gryffindor House was still awake, packed into the circular common room. Harry and Ron were grinning widely in the centre as people like Lee Jordon and the twins surrounded them.

‘Those idiots,’ scowled Hermione, crossing her arms across her chest, then focused on him. ‘And you as well. You could have all been killed.’

‘Don’t you mean “or worse, expelled,”’ he smirked broadly.

She threw him a fierce stare. People around him noticed him as well as a few patted him on the back as though he’d just won a marathon. He had to pull Hermione out from the crowd that was swarming him.

‘Good for you,’ said a fifth year Alexander had never spoken to.

Hermione huffed from next to him. He stared at her inquisitively. ‘I suppose you think this is some type of reward for you three. To be congratulated by the rest of the school.’ Her tone became shrill. ‘Do you have _any_ idea how I felt when I realised that you or Harry and Ron weren’t on the train?’

Alexander quickly sobered up. He peered at her face and underneath the glare, he recognised the hysterical fear that she must have felt when they failed to appear on the train. She must have been going out of her mind. He swallowed and appeared contrite. Shame bubbled in his stomach.

‘We’re sorry for making you worried, Hermione. It wasn’t by choice, believe me.’

Hermione paused. She wasn’t expecting this from him. ‘Right – well – yes –’ she flustered. ‘So, why couldn’t you be on the train, then? Go on?’

He sighed and told her that the barrier was closed and that they couldn’t get through. Hermione frowned when she heard this. But before she could prod him for more answers, Alexander felt a wave of exhaustion hit him after the events of today. Harry and Ron had already disappeared upstairs after spotting Percy.

‘Look, Hermione, I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. But right now, I just want to sleep,’ he yawned.

Hermione’s features softened a tad when she saw the tiredness on his face. ‘Okay, alright then, I’ll see you tomorrow. Make sure to get some proper sleep – I want full answers.’

He nodded and made his way to the archway of the boys’ dormitories. He turned around one last time. ‘I promise, goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

He went up the spiral staircase and reached the door of his old dormitory, which now had a sign on it saying second years. He entered the familiar, circular room, with its six four-posters hung with red velvet and its high, narrow windows. Their trunks had been brought up for them and stood at the ends of their beds.

Ron, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor boys peered up at him as he entered.

‘Alex!’ said Neville, awestruck.

‘Absolutely unbelievable!’ beamed Seamus at all of them. ‘So, go on, tell us how you did it.’

Seamus, Neville, and Dean were gazing expectantly at the three boys. Harry and Ron grinned proudly.

‘You two can tell them,’ said Alexander, and walked towards his much-awaited bed. ‘I’m going to sleep.’

The last thing he heard before drifting off into blackness was Ron and Harry’s enthusiastic recounting of today’s events and the other three’s impressed exclamations. 


End file.
